A/N: Minor violence warning for this one. Sensitive subject matter (suicide).
April 30, 1945
The remnants of Hitler's General Staff and their wives joined him for breakfast around the conference room table. It had been bare for several days now, with no more need of battle plans as everyone waited for the inevitable to happen. It was as they sat around slowly chewing tasteless hard biscuits and sipping coffee which was more like hot water Hitler made his dramatic declaration: he and Eva had decided to die today at 15:00.
"One must face one's fate like a man," he said simply.
Stunned silence met the announcement and tears cascaded down some of the wives' cheeks. Biscuits were left half-eaten on their plates as appetites escaped the Staff members. There was a feeling of shock that it had finally come to this, despite Hitler's promises and preparations for the last week or more. Regardless of his voiced intent, the Staff had still harboured tiny hopes this day would not come. They had followed their Führer for years, watched and helped him raise Germany out of the depths of defeat after losing the last war to make Her a presence on the world stage once more. How had they come to lose another war? Where would Germany be after their Führer, Her saviour, was gone?
"It is for the best," said Hitler, as if reading their minds. "It will clear the way for Dönitz to save Germany."
Everyone was dismissed after the meal was over, except for Bormann. Hitler gave him specific instructions on what to do with their bodies – to burn them to ashes so they could never be put on display. The bunker was to remain intact as well, to prove to the Russians he stayed until the bitter end.
Lunch was a somber affair.
LeBeau made a wonderful breakfast in the kitchen of the Hotel Adlon's café. Actually, pretty much anything which wasn't C rations tasted heavenly, but the Frenchman had outdone himself after finding some eggs in the back of the kitchen's icebox.
After their stomachs were sated, the trio headed out, feeling rejuvenated from their mini-holiday. They headed south on Wilhelmstraße towards the headquarters' buildings. They had decided after a long discussion over breakfast that, even though this area seemed to have more intense fighting, it would be the area they would most likely find Colonel Hogan's alter ego Erlich Strauss. If Strauss was living this close to the military center, odds were good he would have been posted to one of the HQs.
Carter didn't like the idea of putting Newkirk and LeBeau in danger, but quietly admitted to himself they weren't getting any closer to finding the Colonel by avoiding such areas. The logic was sound; they would just have to be extra diligent.
There were a lot more German troops in the area today. The team avoided looking at the gruesomely decorated trees as they headed down Wilhelmstraße, trying to blend in with the other soldiers as they ran, skulked, and took cover. No one questioned their presence due to the mish-mash of units hastily thrown together for the common goal of defending Berlin.
A few of the buildings looked somewhat familiar from their time when they had been taken to Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrecht Straße. It appeared the Luftwaffe building had come under heavy attack; the large concrete structure being hardly recognizable amongst the rubble. As SS, the team reasoned Strauss wouldn't have been posted there so were not concerned by its loss.
Shelling was constant in this part of the city and seemed to be getting worse. The trio kept away from open areas as they moved through the streets, keeping their eyes on the skies for incoming projectiles. They reached the Reich Chancellery but it looked completely abandoned. A debate broke out on whether to search it or not.
"We should at least go in and have a look while we're here," said LeBeau.
"It's empty. We ain't goin' ta find 'im in there, waitin' at a desk for us ta pop in an' say 'Nice ta see ya, where've you been?'," countered Newkirk with a scowl.
"We have to start looking somewhere. The way the Russians are hitting this area hard, it won't be standing much longer and we'll have lost any trace of the Colonel's whereabouts," said Carter.
"I don't like the idea of getting trapped in a building when it's being bombed any more than you do, Pierre," said LeBeau, honing in on the real reason Newkirk didn't want to go inside.
"Look, we'll go in, check around the lobby. They probably have some sort of security logs to track who's come in and out of the building. We'll go through them, quick as a fox and be out before you know it," replied Carter.
"It's quick as a rabbit, Carter," said Newkirk, rolling his eyes. "Alright, I'm in. Let's go, gents."
"Are you sure? I mean foxes are pretty quick," said Carter as the team climbed the steps to the imposing brown brick building, passing under the German spread-winged eagle etched in the stone over the entrance. "I have a 4th cousin, Red Fox Who Hunts on the Plain, and he's…"
"Blimey Carter, it's swift as a fox or quick as a rabbit, not the other way 'round. I've also 'eard sly as a fox but that's another matter entirely. Now will you 'urry up an' find out if the gov'na's been 'ere!" interrupted Newkirk in exasperation.
Carter swallowed his reply and jogged over to the central security desk in the lobby while Newkirk and LeBeau did a quick scan around, ensuring they were indeed alone.
"Oh man, there are a ton of books back here," came Carter's voice from under the desk. He started pulling them out and piling them on the counter.
LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged glances. Nodding to Newkirk, LeBeau came over to help Carter go through the stack as Newkirk kept an eye on the door. Carter was starting to sort the books, which were labeled according to service branch and date, and seemed to change over every couple of weeks or so.
Locating the ones labeled 'SS' for the month of April, Carter and LeBeau began flipping through the pages.
"Eureka!"
The bombs started falling heavier after lunch, coinciding with Hitler and Eva's last tour of the facility. Together, they visited all the areas of the Voß bunker, talking with cooks, nurses, doctors, secretaries, soldiers of all ranks, the injured – anyone they came across. Most were oblivious as to why their Führer was taking the time to make such a circuit, although a few, with tears in their eyes, figured it out fairly quick.
It was past 14:30 when the bombing reached a fevered crescendo. Soldiers were taking weapons from the Armory to reinforce the entrances to the bunker in attempts to hold off a Soviet invasion. A Sergeant was ordered to bring a sidearm for Hogan and returned with a Walther PPK rather than a Luger Hogan tended to prefer. The air was filled with dust and smoke near the Mess area, the result of the last salvo of shells.
Hogan was being called to deploy troops, direct defenses, and calm civilians. Injured soldiers who were fairly recovered gamely requested ammunition to join the protection of their comrades who were too wounded to look after themselves. Chaos was barely controlled and threatened to break out at any minute, the result of too many civilian personnel close to losing their self-control. Some tried to storm the exits, their fear of being captured by the Russians overriding their common sense to keep the egresses secured. Waylaid by duty and in the confusion, Hogan completely lost track of Hitler.
Hogan looked at his watch. 14:55. He had to find Hitler immediately or risk losing everything he'd been waiting for. He gave up trying to coordinate the masses and delegated to a nearby pair of Leutnants. Hogan fought through the panicking crowds like a salmon swimming upstream – the only one heading further into the bunker rather than out of it.
Hogan stopped an evacuating officer in the hall as he ran by, grabbing him by the shoulders to physically halt the man.
"Where's the Führer?" he demanded in desperation.
"Headed towards his quarters, sir," replied the soldier, breaking free of Hogan's grasp to continue his dash through the bunker tunnels.
Hogan let the man go and fought his way through the corridors, ignoring the spreading smoke and fleeing men. Crossing into the Führerbunker, he traversed the conference room with its overturned benches and table, stepping on long-abandoned maps and plans where they had spilled on the floor from their formerly neat pile. At the end of the room was the door leading to Hitler's private lounge where the marriage ceremony had taken place the night before. Hogan burst through, quickly scanning the room beyond for his quarry.
It was empty, but another door led off this little antechamber. Hogan had never been through this door before, but he didn't let that stop him. Working his way through a labyrinth of connected rooms, Hogan didn't take much notice of their function only that they didn't contain the man he was desperately searching for. Finally, he seemed to reach the end of the maze, exploding through the double doors into the last room at full tilt to find Eva sitting on a sofa with a vial of liquid in her hand. Both she and Hitler turned and stared at the intruder. She only hesitated for a moment, then quickly downed the contents.
Hitler stood and faced the man standing in the doorway of his private quarters, fury etched in living colour on his face.
"Strauss! What is the meaning of this?" he thundered, fists shaking at the intrusion.
Hogan was about to answer when a gasping cry came from the faded blue and white upholstered sofa. Eva was curled up, cramps wracking her small frame as she wrapped her arms around her stomach to try to ease the pain.
"Adolf!" she whimpered and Hitler turned back to her, sitting beside her. With a gentle hand, he wiped her brow, moving a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. He held her hand as her breathing increased, comforting her.
"Hush now, my little one," he cooed to her.
"I'm so tired, my love," she whispered as another cramp seized her. She fought a losing battle to keep her eyes open and her skin was taking on a bluish tinge.
"Rest now, my sweet. I shall join you soon," said Hitler, kissing her cheek softly. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, the convulsions eased, and Eva slipped quietly into death.
Hogan stared in shock as he watched the scene play out before him, helpless to stop beautiful, young Eva from taking her own life. Hitler rose from the sofa once more, a deadly expression plastered across his furious face.
"You were not supposed to witness her death!" Hitler roared. "You are not privileged enough, not pure enough, not Aryan enough to observe her passing! How dare you invade us here in our inner sanctuary? Our personal haven! You have violated the sanctity of our private place!"
Hitler paused, chest heaving, eyes wild. Then, like a switch flipping, he was suddenly calm.
"I asked you before, Strauss. What are you doing here?"
"I've come to stop you from doing what Eva just did. My name is not Strauss. It's Robert Hogan. Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps. You might know me better as Papa Bear. I intend to make sure you stand trial for all the immoral crimes you committed in the name of Germany and her people."
"I have done nothing more than what needed to be done," Hitler stated so plainly, so succinctly, Hogan could sense the conviction the Führer had in what he said. After taking Hitler's Political statement last night, there was no doubt in Hogan's mind that even up to his dying breath, Hitler would truly have no remorse for any of his actions. That awareness ignited something deep in Hogan's gut and flared through his veins.
"You murdered thousands! Millions? Women and children! Disabled! Jews! Even now you send your own German children to die in your name, trying to continue a war which was lost weeks ago because your ego doesn't believe in surrender!" shouted Hogan in a rare show of fury. It was Hogan's turn to grow enraged, livid at Hitler's lack of guilt or repentance.
"Germany deserves to win. After what the world put us through following the Great War, we deserved every single inch of land we took!" Hitler's voice rose and he punctuated each word with a shake of his fist. Hogan watched as Hitler calmed once more, turning to pace in front of the sofa, ignoring his wife's body completely. He stopped by the end table and fiddled with a few items strewn across its surface. One finger trailed over a picture of his mother in a gesture which was almost wistful. He picked up another vial of golden liquid and faced Hogan.
"So…an American Colonel. Papa Bear. The most dangerous man in all of Germany, if you believe the Gestapo." Hitler paused to reflect. "Your accent is flawless. I commend you on how well you played the game. I suppose I should have suspected something during our planning sessions. Your skill at strategy is far more than a Hauptsturmführer should demonstrate. Only a flyer would have seen the relation between the levy and the flood plain. I never saw much use for pilots. Perhaps I was in error."
Hogan wasn't sure how he should take the back-handed compliment. For some strange reason, he felt pleased, almost proud, at the Führer's praise. It was almost enough to distract him. Almost. Hogan drew his gun and pointed it at Hitler.
"Put the vial down, Hitler," he ordered. "You are coming with me."
"And to think just this morning you referred to me as 'Mein Führer'. Yet another betrayal of those who were closest to me," Hitler said regretfully. His expression showed his bitter disappointment at Strauss' loyalty before hardening with determination. "How do you expect to leave here with me? Everyone knows of my intent to die rather than flee. You are surrounded by my most loyal soldiers. One word and you are dead," said Hitler, not moving an inch.
"Your most loyal soldiers are on the run. They are not here protecting you. I do believe you are on your own," said Hogan with a smile. "If you want to live, you'll come quietly with me. I have a plan to get us out." Yeah, one I'm making up as I go along, thought Hogan. But you don't need to know that.
Hitler shrugged with indifference. "What makes you think I want to live? I have been preparing for my death since I came to realize Berlin was lost. The love of my life is dead. My country is once more in ruins thanks to people like you who would not try to embrace the epiphany I tried to show them. You think I will live if I come with you? Nein! They shall parade me about as the captured Big Bad Wolf from a different faerie tale. They shall put me on trial for crimes they believe I have committed with no consideration as to why it had to be done this way and an unwillingness to open their minds to my way of thinking. And in the end, Colonel, they shall put me to death. Is that what I have to live for? Humiliation? Execution? I would rather die by my own hand." Hitler turned thoughtful. "Or perhaps yours?" Hitler smiled grimly. "Would you like the glory of killing Germany's Mad Man, Colonel? A crowning achievement in your magnificent career…"
"Not in my plans I'm afraid," said Hogan moving further into the room. "If I was here to kill you, you would already be dead. I've had numerous opportunities over the past month, although admittedly my chances of survival would have been practically non-existent. My orders are to take you back for trial. It would have been a great deal simpler if you had abandoned Berlin like you were advised by your General Staff. But no matter, we are leaving now. It will be much easier if you work with me to avoid the Russians. I think you would prefer British hospitality over Soviet, wouldn't you agree? Now put the vial down."
"Certainly," said Hitler, turning to put the small ampoule of amber liquid back on the end table. Before Hogan could stop him, Hitler popped the stopper off the end and brought the container to his lips. Reacting swiftly, Hogan tackled the Führer, not wanting to shoot him, but still Hitler managed to swallow a little less than half of the fluid. The vial flew out of Hitler's hand, rolling across the carpeted floor spilling the remaining contents in its wake. Hogan's gun skittered under the sofa by Eva's feet.
The two men grappled on the floor. Hogan was surprised by Hitler's strength as he struggled to subdue the smaller man. Hitler managed a strong jab in Hogan's ribs, causing him to gasp in shock. Stunned and winded for a moment, Hogan lost his grip on the Führer, who rolled and scrambled under the sofa for the missing handgun. Recovering quickly, Hogan leapt on Hitler's back, pinning him against the furniture. Hitler was panting with exertion now, the cyanide heightening the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He closed a hand around the butt of the gun as a spasm caused him to jerk, dislodging Hogan briefly.
Hitler rose up to his knees, gun in hand, and Hogan met him, grabbing his wrists to keep the weapon away. Another shudder caused Hitler to lose control of the arm holding the weapon and Hogan managed to force it down harshly against the side table. The impact sent the Walther PPK tumbling out of Hitler's grasp as he tried to cope with pain in his hand as well as the cramps in his abdomen. Even though he hadn't managed to consume the full dose, the cyanide was definitely having a debilitating affect on the Führer.
Hogan grabbed the gun off the floor and removed the safety, intending to bring the weapon up in defense but Hitler was on him again. Their faces were so close as they struggled Hogan could see Hitler's lips turning blue, the rivulets of sweat running down his forehead, and the pale greenish hue of his skin as the Führer fought the nausea rolling in his stomach. Hitler was blinking rapidly, fending off the drowsiness and dizziness which plagued him now as well.
An intense convulsion caused Hitler to wrench back, pulling Hogan forward over the seat of the sofa. The two men thrashed beside where Eva's body lay cooling, oblivious to the battle of good and evil beside her.
Hitler had his outstretched hand wrapped around Hogan's wrist, still attempting to gain control of the hand with the weapon. Hitler was weakening and Hogan was able to bring the gun down to eye level. Their eyes met; the fierce madness in Hitler's matching the intensity of the determination in Hogan's.
"I would have been proud to have had you as a loyal German," Hitler rasped. "With you truly on our side, Germany would have been victorious. You could have risen to be my right-hand man and had power beyond your dreams. You may have been better than all my Generals combined." Hogan watched as something in Hitler's eyes changed. He would swear later he saw a spark set fire to something cold and calculating as Hitler figured out how to claim the victory.
Hogan had no time to work out Hitler's scheme before he suddenly stopped pushing on Hogan's wrist, sliding his hand up to where Hogan's hand held the weapon. Hitler slipped his thumb over Hogan's finger on the trigger, enveloping the gun with his hand. Before Hogan could do more than widen his eyes as he realized Hitler's intention, Hitler moved his thumb, forcing Hogan to squeeze the trigger. The intensity of the gun discharging so close flung Hitler onto the sofa beside Eva. Blood splattered across Hogan's face and he crumpled to the floor.
It was quite a few minutes before Hogan could raise himself up into a sitting position. As he looked up at the sofa, he could see Hitler sprawled across the end opposite of where Eva lay, having bled out over the faded upholstery. Without the pressure on his wrist, Hogan's hand had dropped, causing the gun to discharge through Hitler's right temple, killing him instantly.
Hogan's ears were ringing from the discharge. He was fortunate Hitler had his hand over the top of the gun or else flash burns could have stolen his sight as well. Did he intentionally spare me injury? Hogan would never know and didn't want to dwell on the implications the thought raised. He wiped a hand across his face, smearing the evidence of Hitler's ultimate checkmate.
Another explosion shook the underground complex. Hogan knew he had to move or he wouldn't escape. The Russians were knocking at the front door and they weren't looking for someone to come out to play. Hogan rose somewhat unsteadily, still holding his gun. As he stood there gaining his equilibrium, he contemplated the two on the sofa.
It was strange, but in the end Hogan had a lot in common with the dead man lying before him. They had both gambled; Hitler on the ability to keep Berlin, Hogan on being able to get Hitler to trial. They had both failed. And they had both contributed significantly to the other's failure. Guess that makes it a stalemate, thought Hogan. It was a game Hogan would have refused to play if he had known what the rules were before it began.
And Eva. Yesterday, she had been the happiest woman in the world, marrying the love of her life. Today that love had caused her death at much too young an age. She could have chosen to live and rebuild her life, perhaps having to live in anonymity but living never-the-less. She had so much left to give. It was amazing what love could drive a person to do.
Hogan knew he couldn't be discovered in this room and Bormann would be coming to retrieve the bodies soon. As he went to holster his gun, he was struck by the realization Bormann might find it strange Hitler died by gunshot with no weapon around. Crossing back to the sofa, he took the PPK and placed it in Hitler's hand, leaving the safety off as if it were just fired. Closing the doors behind him, Hogan made his way back through the labyrinth of rooms which had made up Hitler's private quarters.
He was headed down the hall when he heard "The Führer is dead!" shouted out behind him.
"Got him!" "Eureka!" shouted Carter and LeBeau at virtually the same time.
"What you got?" asked Newkirk coming over to see what his friends had discovered in the security books.
"First time Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss signs in is the afternoon of April 3rd," answered LeBeau, pointing to a line in the ledger. He gave a low whistle. "Would you look at this? Erlich Strauss was the Deputy Adjutant to the Führer! Mon Colonel's been working for Hitler directly!"
Newkirk's eyes widened at the revelation. Just what 'ad the gov'na got 'imself inta this time? he wondered.
LeBeau flipped through the remainder of the book. "Seems to be signing in and out at roughly the same time every day, although there are a few evenings he worked late and Sundays too."
"Aye, that's the Colonel for ya. Even workin' for the enemy, 'e's always puttin' in overtime," commented Newkirk proudly.
"Sacre chats! On April 10th, he signs in only five minutes after General Burkhalter! Their names are on top of each other," said LeBeau shocked at how close the Colonel came to being exposed. He wondered how often something like that had happened while the Colonel had been in Berlin, alone, without them for backup.
"Blimey that's a bit of a near miss," said Newkirk, scratching his head. "Imagine the gov'na tryin' ta explain that one to ol' Burkie!"
"The last entry is on April 15th. What have you got André?" asked LeBeau, closing his book.
"More of the same," replied Carter scanning through his ledger. "In and out every day…Wait a minute."
"What?"
"What is it?"
"Here… Friday, April 20th…" began Carter.
"That's the same day he checked out of the Hotel Adlon," said LeBeau excitedly.
"He signs in as Adjutant to the Führer…" continued Carter.
"Adjutant – not Deputy Adjutant? Just Adjutant?" questioned LeBeau, leaning over to read the entry himself.
"Somethin' bad musta 'appened sometime between April 19 and 20, mates. The Colonel moved out of 'is accommodations and got a promotion the same day," mused Newkirk.
"Not only that, but he hasn't signed out yet." Carter dropped the bombshell on his two unsuspecting team mates.
"What!" they chorused, aghast at Carter's revelation.
"There are no further entries for Erlich Strauss at all after April 20th. But the Colonel's not the only one who doesn't sign out. There are several people, including some Generals, who don't sign out and then aren't listed again. The number of sign-ins drops a lot over the next couple of days and the book just stops on the 23rd."
"Oh mon Colonel, what has happened to you?" moaned LeBeau. "It's like the earth swallowed you whole on April 20th."
"I don't know, Louie, but I don't think we're gonna find 'im 'ere. The buildin's obviously deserted. We'd better 'ead back out, not that I 'ave a clue what ta do now or where ta look…" Newkirk drifted off.
The three men gathered up their gear in silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the possible fate of their Colonel, trying not to imagine the worst.
"Maybe he evacuated with Hitler and his command staff," suggested Carter positively as they exited the building. "We don't know what happened to them."
Newkirk, in the lead, had just turned to reply to Carter after descending the steps in front of the Reich Chancellery when the world exploded.
Evacuation was the next order of business for Hogan. He thought about a few items which were in his quarters but there was no time to go back for them. Screams could be heard coming from the Voßbunker from the area which housed the hospital. Nurses, thought Hogan.
The loudest boom he had ever heard echoed over Hogan's head, followed by a tremendous shaking. He had to grab the wall to steady himself as the shuddering, rumbling, crashing noises surrounded and overloaded his senses. Above him, the Chancellery had taken a direct hit, a portion collapsing into rubble. More smoke and dust rolled through the hallways making it impossible to see where he was going. Gunshots could be heard in the distance.
A soldier ran past carrying a machine gun. Hogan commandeered his personal sidearm before allowing him back into the fray. If he wanted to fight, Hogan would not stop him. Personally, it was time to escape. Everything he had stayed for was gone and survival was now the top priority.
Hearing cries that the north exit was blocked, Hogan decided to try the emergency exit near Hitler's quarters. Despite it opening on the inner courtyard, it was closest and not overrun by panicking, fleeing personnel since it was the Führer's personal exit. Most people in the bunker didn't know it existed. Climbing the spiral staircase, Hogan unlocked the door and pushed out to enter the garden.
The door stuck half way, rubble from the collapsed wing of the Chancellery stopping it from opening fully. Hogan managed to squeeze his way through the tight gap, feeling the bolts scrape his chest and thighs through his uniform. As he pushed through, he scanned the area for enemy – no, Allied – ah, heck – Russian soldiers. Hogan didn't know what to call them. He'd be happier if Patton was rolling down the street.
The garden was clear and he took stock of his surroundings. He could climb over the remains of the building but quickly discarded the idea as who knew how unstable and dangerous the debris would be. It was also possible the Soviets were watching for survivors to escape from there. He knew Hitler must have had a way out of the inner block – why else would there be an emergency exit leading here? Just my luck it would be in the part that just collapsed, thought Hogan.
Hogan walked the circumference of the courtyard, examining the remaining walls. There was nothing save a regular door into the ground floor of the Chancellery. Apparently, Hogan had come out the secret door leading to the hidden bunker. The only other egress was to use the normal building door.
Trying not to over think the situation, Hogan tried to open the door. It was locked. Using his gun, he broke the side window by smashing it with the handle. Clearing the glass, he leaned in and managed to get the door opened. Entering the silent structure, Hogan looked ahead and smiled. There was a direct path straight across to another exterior door.
Hogan sprinted down the hallway, not wanting to remain inside the building the Russian tanks were using for target practice any longer than necessary. He ignored the intersections with other halls, intent only on reaching the outside world. He paused momentarily to peer out the nearby window to see what kind of situation was waiting on the other side of the door. Satisfied it seemed clear, Hogan slipped through the door and immediately sought out cover.
Central Berlin was burning. The Soviets were going crazy, setting many of the headquarter buildings on fire. Smoke blanketed the city and choked Allied and Axis alike. The pounding of tanks firing was closely followed by booming explosions and between their din was the staccato rat-a-tat-tat of machine guns interspersed with the distinct single shot of rifle fire. It was the music of war and it was rhythmic and frenzied, singing the song of death to too many.
Hogan was lost in the pandemonium. He had never been in ground combat before. The front lines were a foreign concept to a bomber pilot turned saboteur. While not a stranger to a single explosion, and Hogan had to admit some of Carter's were spectacular, the constant thudding which hammered his chest took his breath away, like the finale at the Fourth of July fireworks celebrations back home. On a constant basis, it added to his confusion and terror, not knowing when a shell would come out of no where and end his life. He didn't know which way to turn, where was safety, where was the enemy.
Who was the enemy? There was little trust between the Russians and the Americans politically beyond the declaration of being Allies in this fight against Germany. Would the Soviets recognize his claims to being American with no documentation to support it? Although he was wearing his SS uniform, he knew he would not find any protection with the German troops but at least they wouldn't shoot him on sight. There were still close to 10,000 German soldiers in the city center, being compressed slowly by the Soviet's relentless onslaught. It was only a matter of time before they realized they had no choice but to surrender. There was nothing left for them to fight for here; they didn't even know their Führer was dead and the seat of power moved to Flensburg with Großadmiral Dönitz, now President of the Reich. Hogan figured he'd do best by fending for himself and avoiding either side if possible. Finding civilian clothes was higher ranked than food and water for survival right now.
The Russians were continuing their attack on the heart of Berlin. Hogan knew he had to move now before coming face to face with ground troops sent in to round up POWs. He began by putting this into terms he could relate; with no infantry skills other than some limited maneuvers his brother Tom had taught him once after basic training, Hogan thought more like evading search lights than machine guns, Gestapo patrols than Soviet soldiers. How had Tom survived this for four years? thought Hogan, then chastised himself for the distraction which nearly exposed him to a passing Russian tank.
Hogan ducked and dived, cowered in doorways, crawled under debris, and took shelter in burned out ruins but through it all, he only had one thing on his mind…Run.
The sun was setting when Newkirk cracked open one eye. He was lying face up and could see white fluffy clouds hanging overhead reflecting the sun's golden rays as it approached the horizon. He opened the other eye and squinted at the brightness until they adjusted, looking around to see what had happened.
He was lying in the middle of the road. Voßstraße came unbidden to his mind. Terrific! I din't know what 'appened but I do remember what street I'm on! He took stock of his body, trying to determine if he had any serious injuries. Nothing was screaming at him for attention, so he slowly rolled and sat up, needing to find out what had happened to the others.
Newkirk had been in the lead exiting the Chancellery building, followed by LeBeau and Carter bringing up the rear. He had managed to reach the sidewalk while LeBeau was part way down the front steps and Carter at the top. He tried to puzzle out what had happened next but drew a blank other than a sense of being caught up in a swell of air pressure which knocked him off his feet. Newkirk sat up and looked around for his mates, a brief wave of dizziness washing over him as his blood pressure equalized.
For the first time since regaining consciousness, Newkirk glanced at the Chancellery. An entire section of the building was missing, laid waste to rubble. Debris was scattered into the sidewalk and street, the majority piled where the structure had once stood.
Fortunately, the portion which had been hit wasn't the front entrance or Newkirk wouldn't still be here. It was enough he and his team had been bowled over and tossed about by the explosion.
Feeling steady, Newkirk slowly climbed to his feet. He staggered a few steps as he took in the devastation around him. He had a few cuts on his face and hands, and his uniform was showing some signs of abuse – a few tears, mostly dirt and soot. He looked around for his friends, the piles of wreckage deceiving. Finally he spotted a lump which appeared human and he hustled over.
The body was facing away from Newkirk as he approached, but he could tell from its size it was Carter and not LeBeau.
"Carter! Carter, mate! Are ya with me?" Newkirk called out. He looked Carter over and didn't see any obvious signs of injury, then patted him down to check for broken bones. Finding nothing, he gingerly rolled over his friend and checked for a pulse. Relieved at finding it strong, he tapped Carter's cheek, hoping to rouse his unconscious team mate. "Carter! Come on, wake up! We still need to find LeBeau," he continued.
Carter finally started to come around, groaning as he did so. He took in Newkirk kneeling over him and raised his head to look about.
"What…"
"Shell took out part o' the buildin' we were in," anticipated Newkirk, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point out the ruins behind him.
"Oh. Guess we shoulda left sooner," said Carter, propping himself up on his elbows to see the mess for himself. "Where's LeBeau?"
"'aven't found 'im yet. Found you first. Now that you're awake, you can 'elp search," replied Newkirk. "Can you stand? You injured?"
"Just bruises I think and a humdinger of a headache. Good thing we had helmets on," said Carter as he sat up fully and took stock of his aches. Slowly, Newkirk helped him to his feet and he dusted himself off. "Close call. Any idea where Louie might be?"
"Not a bloomin' clue. Took me a bit to find you. I'll look over 'ere. You start over there. Keep in sight though," answered Newkirk.
"Right," said Carter moving off in the direction Newkirk indicated.
It took them about five minutes of searching before finding their lost Frenchman under a pile of twisted metal. He was till unconscious and the metal had torn quite a gash in his leg. Newkirk and Carter tried rousing him but were unsuccessful.
"What do we do now?" asked Carter.
"Well, we can't leave 'im 'ere in the street and 'e doesn't seem ta want ta wake up," said Newkirk. He tore a strip of material out of the liner of his uniform tunic and used it to bind LeBeau's leg. "We need ta get outta this part o' town for starters…"
As if to back up Newkirk's words, the whistling sound of another shell on its way interrupted the Englishman. Both Carter and Newkirk threw themselves over LeBeau, protecting him. The detonation shook the earth and raised dust all around. Fortunately, the bomb was targetted at the Luftwaffe Headquarters up the street, leaving the trio untouched this time.
"That tears it! We're outta 'ere!" exclaimed Newkirk, rising up to his knees. Panic was starting to set in. Neither man had been in ground combat before and they weren't liking it in the least. While Newkirk had been stationed in London during the Blitz, he had been in the air at the time of the attack, not experiencing it first-hand. Even Carter, who lived for his explosions, was finding it difficult to enjoy the ones falling haphazardly all around him. He much preferred to be in control of when and where explosions would occur.
"Where are we going to go?" asked Carter, looking around frantically. Any of the nearby buildings were out of the question as they were the targets of choice by the Russians at the moment.
"Anywhere but 'ere!" exclaimed Newkirk, gathering LeBeau in his arms.
"Back to the Hotel?" suggested Carter, turning to the north.
"I don't think so," said Newkirk, hearing machine gun fire coming from that direction.
"South?" offered Carter next.
Instead of voicing his agreement, Newkirk headed out, first going east to the corner of Wilhelmstraße, then turning to go south. Carter scurried to catch up. He had just cleared the corner when he ran into Newkirk who was coming back at him. Newkirk laid LeBeau down gently on the ground.
"What? What's happening? I thought we were going south?" asked Carter, looking to peer around the corner. Newkirk pulled him back.
"Russians," he said simply. "Almost got meself spotted by a tank several blocks away. South isn't an option."
"Now what?" Carter asked outloud. He leaned against the building and braced his hands on his knees while Newkirk bent over to check on LeBeau. "Is he showing any signs of waking up yet?"
"Not yet," Newkirk replied with a hint of worry in his voice. Newkirk looked up at Carter, waiting for direction on what to do now. Carter stared back.
The world phased out around Carter as he looked into Newkirk's worried face. The sound of the shells and the guns, the tanks and the explosions, faded into white noise as Carter thought about what to do. Egads what do I do now? Newkirk's looking at me like I'm the Colonel now and have all the answers. LeBeau's injured, we're surrounded by the enemy, bombs are dropping all around us. I'm terrified. What do I do? What if one of them dies because of me? I wish we had found the Colonel. He'd know what to do. One thing I do know; I gotta get the guys to safety, he thought, they're counting on me. He considered the limited options and made up his mind.
"We try for the Hotel," said Carter. "We know there're supplies there and less fighting to the north. We'll be able to patch up LeBeau's leg using the clean linen. It's our best option."
"Okay, mate. We'll give 'er a try," replied Newkirk softly.
Newkirk slung LeBeau over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while Carter led on point with his gun ready. They worked their way up Wilhelmstraße, keeping out of sight as best they could. They crossed paths with several German soldiers but no Russian ones.
They made it to the Hotel Adlon without further incident and got LeBeau up to the room he had slept in the night before. Carter fetched supplies for Newkirk, who was able to wash out the leg wound and bandaged it in some torn up bed sheets. Shortly after Newkirk was done, LeBeau started to surface as if he knew the blood was all cleaned up.
The little Frenchman opened his eyes and took in his surroundings with surprise.
"What am I doing here?" he asked his team mates.
"Shell exploded and levelled part of the Chancellery," began Carter. "We were all knocked out. You got hit a little harder I guess – tore a good gash in your leg but Newkirk's got it all cleaned out and bandaged. We needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night while you recovered and we managed to make it back to the Hotel," finished Carter, skipping over the dicey details of their run in with more shelling and the tank.
"You two are okay?" asked LeBeau concerned.
"Yeah, just some cuts and bruises. Nothing major, but we'll probably ache tomorrow though," said Carter, easing his friend's worry.
"You carried me all that way?" asked LeBeau.
"Darn right I did. Didn't do me back any favours either," moaned Newkirk with an exaggerated stretch as he came nearer to the bed. "You need ta lay off your own cookin', mate."
LeBeau scowled at the implied insult over how much he weighed, knowing it was Newkirk's way of showing he cared.
"'Fraid I'm not much of a cook," said Carter, interrupting the exchange between the two friends which would have grown heated in a minute or two. He handed each of them a can of warmed C rations. "Back to the old stand-bys tonight."
The trio ate in silence. Carter and Newkirk brought mattresses in from the other suites and put them in LeBeau's room, not wanting to leave their injured team mate alone overnight. The day had been exhausting and they called it an early night, trying not to imagine what perils they would run into tomorrow.
A/N: There is much debate over Hitler's death and the fate of his body. Many sources state he took cyanide in addition to the shot to his head, but there are conflicting reports on the head shot. Some say it was through the temple, others figured the angle was more from under the chin and out through the top of his head. It appears Eva Braun only took the cyanide.
Cyanide poisoning is rapidly fatal if ingested but can take up to an hour if exposure was through skin absorption. Initial symptoms are excitement, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, headache, and spasms, followed by an abnormal or slower heartbeat, shortness of breath, chest tightness, blue skin, fluid in lungs, drowsiness, convulsions, hallucinations, and finally loss of consciousness/coma before succumbing to death. Victims may not present with all symptoms. (Summarized from CDC - Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and ATSDR - Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry). All in all, I can think of nicer ways to die.
As for the fate of their bodies, it is still not clear. Bormann was supposed to have arranged for Otto Günsche (another of Hitler's adjutants whom I didn't feel necessary to include in this story) to take their bodies to be burned in the Chancellery garden by dousing them with gasoline, but it seems he only partially accomplished the job. The Russians claim to have retrieved the bodies and taken them to Magdesburg where they were buried. Other reports say the Soviets took them along with Goebbels' body to Rathenow in Brandenburg for burial. (Goebbels committed suicide on May 1. He gave his 6 children heroin to put them to sleep, then gave them cyanide. He then committed suicide with his wife Magda).
In 1970, the remains were allegedly exhumed, cremated and the ashes scattered in the Elbe River. There was a story on MSN as recently as the mid-October 2009, maintaining the Russians still had the portion of Hitler's skull with the bullet hole, but an American researcher supposedly debunked it, citing the skull belonged to a female. The entire truth may never be fully revealed.