“This may help you,” Hitler said.
For Max von Berger, the implications were breathtaking. “But in what way, my Fuhrer?”
“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 Fuhrer, only Russians.”
“You don’t 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 Fuhrer, 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.
He said patiently, “And how does this affect me?”
“I spoke to the commandant of the Luftwaffe base at Rechlin. A pilot has volunteered to fly you out in a Storch. It has already arrived and is waiting in that huge garage at Goebbels’s house. The heavy rain and steam from the fires will make it an ideal time to go.”
“But to do what, my Fuhrer?”
Hitler put out a shaking hand and Sara Hesser put the briefcase on the desk. “When the war is over, industry will collapse and so will your family’s company, Berger Steel. Eventually, though, things will start to improve, and especially for you. In here, you will find details of deposits in Switzerland, code words, passwords, which will give you access to millions. You’ll build Berger back into a power.”
Von Berger was speechless.
“That is not all.” Hitler opened the briefcase and produced a book bound in dark blue. “I have kept a diary for the past six months, a time in which everyone has betrayed me. Goering, Himmler.” He shook his head. “And no one tried more than me to be reasonable. I even sent Walter Schellenberg to Sweden to meet Roosevelt ’s representative, did you know that? No, of course you didn’t. I offered a negotiated peace to combat the Red menace. Am I the enemy? No. It is that dog Stalin. Together, the U.S. and Germany, we could have smashed him, but, no, my offer was rejected. The Americans will reap the whirlwind, believe me. The Russians will not recognize what they have taken. The damage they will do to Berlin is beyond anyone’s comprehension. Yet Roosevelt and Eisenhower have decided to hold back after the Elbe crossing. Patton and his tanks could be here in twenty-four hours, but they’ve been told to stay where they are in obedience to Stalin’s wishes and allow the Reds to take Berlin.”
“My God,” von Berger said.
“Believe me, in the years to come, America and Britain will rue this as their greatest folly. And it is all in my diary. Every day, I have dictated it to Fraulein Hesser. You may notice the trembling in my hand – an unfortunate ailment that has plagued me for some time. But I have signed each entry.”
“So what do I do with the diary, my Fuhrer?”
“There will come a time when it will be of use to advance our cause. I do not know when – but you will, Baron. You will be its keeper. It is a holy book, Baron. I want no copies, your oath on that? Protected at all times. You may read it, if you wish. You will find the account of my dealings with Roosevelt particularly interesting.” He shook his head. “I have every belief that you will achieve this for me.”
And Baron Max von Berger, a great soldier and a brave man, but who had always despised the Nazi Party, for some reason felt incredibly moved. The young woman put the diary and documents back into the briefcase and handed it to him.
Hitler said, “So, you will leave within the next hour because of the bad weather.”
“May I take my sergeant with me?” von Berger asked.
“Of course. You can also take Fraulein Hesser.” He glanced up at her.
She said, “No, my Fuhrer, my place, my duty, is with you.”
“So be it.” Hitler stood and held a shaking hand to von Berger. “Strange. Not even a Party member, and yet I chose you.”
Von Berger shook his hand strongly. “I accept the task. It is a matter of honor.”
“On your way. We shall not meet again.”
Sara Hesser went and opened the door. Max von Berger, the briefcase in his hand, paused and turned, and the sight of Hitler, hunched at his desk, was to haunt him for his entire life.
“My Fuhrer.” He gave a military salute.
Hitler gave a thin smile. “Even now you cannot bring yourself to give me a Party salute. You touch your cap like a British Guards officer.”
“I’m sorry, my Fuhrer.”
“Oh, go on. Just go.” Hitler waved his hand and Sara Hesser closed the door on the Baron.
He found his way back up the crowded passageways and through the garden bunker, where he found Hoffer and the young SS soldier sitting under a concrete awning in the entrance, drinking the rest of the vodka while it rained relentlessly.
Hoffer stood up. “Baron?”
“We’re getting out, Karl. Believe it or not, but we’re going to get out.”
“But how, sir?”
Von Berger took him to one side. “I’ve been given a special mission by the Fuhrer. There’s a light plane waiting. I’m not saying more, but we’re going home, we’re going to Holstein.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s true. Give me my coat and get some weapons.”
He turned and the boy said, “You’re going,
Von Berger smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Paul Schneider.”
“Then I’ll tell you what, Paul Schneider. Instead of waiting to face death at the hands of the Russians, you can come with us, fly to the West and surrender to the Americans.”
“I can’t believe it,” the boy gasped.
“Sergeant Hoffer just said that.” He turned to Hoffer. “Get moving.”
Within forty minutes, von Berger, Hoffer and young Schneider left the Bunker, exiting into Hermann Goering Strasse. They were well armed with military packs containing extra ammunition and grenades. Each one had a Schmeisser machine pistol slung across his chest.
There were people pouring along the Tiergarten in hordes now, a terrible panic having taken over, and the fog, made worse by the smoke, swirled across the city, not even the heavy rain managing to clear it. The rumble of artillery was constant, women with children screamed, terrified.
The three men moved along the Tiergarten on the edge of the crowd, cut across by the Brandenburg Gate to Goebbels’s house. It showed evidence of damage, obviously from shell splinters, but the very large garage was intact. There was a judas gate in the main door and Hoffer opened it gently.
“Hold it,” a voice called, and a light was switched on. A small Fieseler Storch spotter plane appeared, a young Luftwaffe captain standing beside it in uniform and flying jacket. He held a Schmeisser at the ready.
Von Berger moved past Hoffer. “I’m
“My name is Ritter – Hans Ritter – and thank God you’re here. This is the fourth time I’ve done this run and it wasn’t fun. Could I ask where we’re going?”
“To the West, to Holstein Heath in Schwarze Platz. There’s a castle, Schloss Adler, above Neustadt. Can we make it?”
