Hitler's Last Secretary (24 page)

By now the Führer’s huge underground bunker in the grounds of the Reich Chancellery had been made ready. Eleven metres of thick reinforced concrete covered the little cabins and rooms inside. But only a flat roof emerged above ground level. The bunker was intended only for temporary accommodation during an air raid, but when an incendiary bomb made the living rooms above ground uninhabitable, particularly the library, it became permanent living space for Hitler and his staff. The adjutants’ wing, as it was called, which contained the little Staircase Room, had not been damaged. This was where we had our typewriters and did our office work, and now we ate lunch there with Hitler too.

But in the evening, punctual as clockwork, enemy aircraft came over, and we had to dine with Hitler in the little room in the bunker where he lived and worked. It was a tiny place in the very heart of the new Führer bunker. If we didn’t climb straight down the stairs from the park into this underground fortress, we had to go through the kitchen of the Führer’s apartments and make our way along several winding corridors to what had once been the air-raid shelter. Then you reached a wide corridor with several rooms for the men on duty to left and right of it, and from there down several more flights of steps, deeper into the real new Führer bunker. Heavy iron doors led to a broad corridor. On the left there was a door leading to the lavatories, on the right the engine room with the lighting and ventilation equipment, then the door to the telephone switchboard and the valet’s room. From here you went on to a general common room which you had to cross to reach Professor Morell’s room, the medical room, and a small room where the men on duty could sleep. This part of the bunker could be closed off by more heavy iron doors, but they were usually left open. Then came the section of corridor leading to Hitler’s rooms. It was also used as a waiting-room and sitting room. A broad red carpet runner covered the stone flags on the floor. Along the right wall of the corridor hung the valuable paintings that had been brought down here for safety from the upper rooms of the Führer’s apartments and the Reich Chancellery. Handsome armchairs were ranged below them. And doors off this corridor led to Hitler’s rooms. You entered his study from the corridor through a small anteroom outside it. The room was about three by four metres with a low ceiling, which had a depressing effect. There wasn’t room for much furniture. A desk stood against the wall to the right of the door, opposite it was a small sofa, more of a bench really, with blue-and-white linen upholstery. In front of that was a small rectangular table and three armchairs. A little table with a radio on it to the right of the sofa completed the furnishings. On the right a door led to Hitler’s bedroom, which had no entrance of its own from the corridor. I never saw inside it. On the left you reached Hitler’s bathroom, and from there you came to a small dressing room which also adjoined Eva Braun’s accommodation in the bunker. There was access to this room too from the little anteroom, which the servants used as a place to store provisions and put things down while they were serving, but the mistress of the place had never stayed here before.

Next to Hitler’s bedroom there was another small room that was used for conferences, talks and military briefings. There was nothing in it but a large table, a bench running round it, and a few chairs and stools. Then came the door at the end of the corridor, which again led to a little forecourt through which you could reach the staircase and finally emerge into the park. Here, in this relatively small complex, which was laid out in such a bewildering way that it’s difficult to describe it clearly, the last act of the drama took place.

Today it seems to me almost incredible that we still trusted Hitler’s confidence and his belief in victory at the beginning of that February. Cheerful, light-hearted conversations were still conducted at meals, and we seldom discussed the gravity of the situation. But anxious doubts began to stir in my heart, for the Russians were coming close and closer. The Wolf’s Lair had been blown up some time ago, even before the OT construction troops had finished work on the mammoth bunkers. The Russians had come flooding into East Prussia, and there were terrible tales from the villages that had fallen into enemy hands. Murdered men and children, raped women, burning villages cried out to heaven for vengeance. Hitler’s features were set hard and full of hatred, and he kept saying, ‘These uncivilized brutes cannot, must not be allowed to swamp Europe. I am the last bulwark against that danger. If there is any justice we shall prevail, and one day the world will understand what this struggle was about!’ He often quoted some remarks by Frederick the Great, whose picture hung over his desk: ‘The commander who flings his last battalion into the fray will be the victor!’ And the battle of Kunersdorf* was a fiery memorial and warning in Hitler’s mind.

20 April 1945 – Hitler’s birthday! The first Russian tanks stood outside Berlin. The thunder of the infantry guns reached the Reich Chancellery, and the Führer received birthday wishes from the faithful. They all came, shook his hand, promised to be loyal, and tried to persuade him to leave the city. ‘My Führer, the city will soon be surrounded. You will soon be cut off and unable to reach the south. There’s still time to take command of the southern armies if you go by way of Berchtesgaden.’ Goebbels, Ribbentrop, Himmler, Doünitz
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– they all tried, but in vain. Hitler intended to stay and a wait developments. Out in the park, he pinned decorations on boys of the Hitler Youth, children who had distinguished themselves in battle against Russian tanks. Was he planning to rely on that kind of defence? He did at least say he was prepared to move all the staffs south, all the personnel, ministries and departments that were not indispensable here.

In the evening we sat crammed together in the little study. Hitler was silent, staring into space. We too asked him if he wouldn’t leave Berlin. ‘No, I can’t,’ he replied. ‘I should feel like a Tibetan lama turning an empty prayer mill. I must bring things to a head here in Berlin – or go under!’ We said nothing, and the champagne we were drinking to Hitler’s health tasted insipid.

For Hitler had now said out loud what we had long seen, with terror, as a certainty: he himself no longer believed in victory. He retired early, and the birthday party broke up. But Eva Braun came back once she had led Hitler to his room. A restless fire burned in her eyes. She had on a new dress made of silvery blue brocade; it was meant to be worn to a party at the side of the man she loved. Hitler hadn’t noticed it. And he hadn’t noticed that there were four young women at his table who wanted to live, who had believed in him, who had hoped for victory from him.

* Where Frederick the Great suffered a heavy defeat.

Eva Braun wanted to numb the fear that had awoken in her heart. She wanted to celebrate once again, even when there was nothing left to celebrate, she wanted to dance, to drink, to forget … I was only too willing to be infected by the last stirrings of lust for life and get out of the bunker where the heavy ceiling suddenly weighed down so palpably on our spirits, and the walls were white and cold.

Eva Braun carried off anyone she met, all who crossed her path, sweeping them away with her up to her old living room on the first floor, which was still intact although the good furniture was down in the bunker now. The large round table was laid festively once again for any of Hitler’s entourage who were still in Berlin. Even Reichsleiter Bormann left Hitler’s side and his own desk, and fat Theo Morell came up from the safety of his bunker in spite of the constant thunder of the artillery fire. Someone produced an old gramophone from somewhere with a single record. ‘Blood-Red Roses Speak of Happiness To You … ’ Eva Braun wanted to dance! Never mind who with, she whirled everyone away in a desperate frenzy, like a woman who has already felt the faint breath of death. We drank champagne, there was shrill laughter, and I laughed too because I didn’t want to cry. In the midst of this an explosion silenced the party for a moment, someone hurried to the phone, gleaned more important news. But no one said anything about the war, no one mentioned victory, no one spoke of death. This was a party given by ghosts. And the red roses kept on speaking of happiness …

I suddenly thought I might throw up any minute. I felt terrible. I could hear nothing but the dull roar of the guns. I’d come round from the anaesthetic. Quietly and inconspicuously I left this last wild party and slipped through the labyrinth of corridors in the bunkers and cellars over to the New Reich Chancellery. What would the next few days bring? I fell asleep before I found an answer.

Next morning our ranks had thinned out. The prominent people who had come with birthday wishes had left the sinking ship, slipping through the last narrow escape route to the south. Ribbentrop had tried to use one last way of persuading Hitler to set out too. He talked to Eva Braun. She told me about it later. ‘You are the only person who can get the Führer away from here,’ he begged her. ‘Tell him you want to leave Berlin with him. You will be doing Germany a great service.’ But Eva Braun replied, ‘I shall not pass on a word of your proposition to the Führer. He must decide alone. If he thinks it right to stay in Berlin, then I will stay with him. If he leaves, I shall leave too.’

Aircraft and columns of vehicles were setting off south all the time. Fräulein Wolf and Fräulein Schroeder, the other two secretaries, were among those who left. Fräulein Wolf had tears in her eyes when she said goodbye, as if she sensed that she would never again see Hitler, who had been her boss for 25 years.
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One after another, people shook hands with Hitler as they said goodbye. Only the most important liaison officers stayed behind.

VI

22 April 1945. Feverish restlessness in the bunker. All hell is let loose outside. We’ve heard shooting and thunderous gunfire all day, you can hardly put your head out of doors. The Wilhelmsplatz looks bleak, the Kaiserhof has collapsed like a house of cards; its ruins reach almost all the way to the Reich Chancellery. All that’s left of the Propaganda Ministry is its white façade standing symbolically in the empty square.

I ask everyone I meet how the attack is going. It should be in full swing now. Are those German guns and tanks that aremaking such a noise? None of the officers know. They are all chasing around like waxwork figures pretending to be busy and deluding themselves.

The doors of Hitler’s conference room are closed. There’s an agitated discussion in progress behind them. My colleague Frau Christian, Martin Bormann’s secretary Fräulein Krüger
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and I are sitting in the dietician’s kitchen drinking strong coffee. We are talking about trivial things just to quell the desperate fear we feel. Each of us is trying to deal with the situation in her own way. No one thinks of eating lunch, although it was lunchtime long ago. Our restlessness makes us go to the door of the conference room again. We hear voices rising and falling. Hitler shouts something, but we can’t make out what. Martin Bormann comes out looking agitated and hands Fräulein Krüger some sheets to be typed out immediately. For a moment we see uniformed backs bent over the street map of Berlin. The meeting looks baffled. Distraught, we move back into the anteroom, where we smoke, wait, whisper …

At last the heavy iron door opens. Linge calls Frau Christian and me in to the Führer With an expression on his face that tells us nothing he goes on to fetch Fräulein Manziarly too. Only a few steps separate us from the life-and-death decision. Now we shall hear the truth.

All the officers who have been discussing the situation are standing outside the open door of the conference room with white, stony faces. Hitler stands motionless in the little anteroom outside his study. All the expression has vanished from his face; his eyes are blank. He looks like his own death mask. His gaze sees nothing. Impersonally, in commanding tones such as I’ve never heard him use to a woman before, he says, ‘Get changed at once. A plane is leaving in an hour and will take you south. All is lost, hopelessly lost.’

I am frozen rigid. The picture on the wall is hanging crooked, and there’s a mark on the lapel of Hitler’s jacket. Everything feels far away, as if it were packed in cotton wool.

Eva Braun is the first to rouse herself. She goes towards Hitler, who has already placed his hand on the handle of his door, takes both his hands and says, smiling and in the comforting tones you might use to a sad child, ‘But you know I shall stay with you. I’m not letting you send me away.’ Then Hitler’s eyes begin to shine from within, and he does something none of us, not even his closest friends and servants, have ever seen him do before: he kisses Eva Braun on the mouth, while the officers stand outside waiting to be dismissed. I don’t want to say it, but it comes out of its own accord; I don’t want to stay here and I don’t want to die, but I can’t help it. ‘I’m staying too,’ I say.

I had topack a crate with the most important files,the paperwork and documents given to me by Schaub. Mechanically I put them together one by one. Should I send my own things home too? Perhaps there wouldn’t be any room left for luggage in the last few planes going south tomorrow? But perhaps we’d have to hold out here for weeks? I didn’t send anything. The plane that took off with its important cargo and two of Hitler’s orderlies was never seen again.

Hitler shook hands with everyone in turn, saying goodbye. Only the most important liaison officers stayed behind. And Bormann too, of course, always the channel for any news that had to reach Hitler.