exuded powerful confidence in victory and explained to me the defensive strategy of our leadership with regard to Fortress Berlin, where, he said, he would take the teeth out of the Russians.
It was not clear to me why he wanted to leave Berlin instead of participating in the great triumph here, but as a mere sergeant major it was not for me to ask a general such a question!
He went on to explain to me in detail the defensive rings around and in Berlin. The last inner defensive ring, which interested us particularly as we had to defend it, was called ‘Zitadelle’ and was commanded by SS-Brigadier Mohnke, who came directly under Hitler. It comprised the inner city with the Reichs Chancellery, the Reichstag, the ministries and main governmental offices.
So that was how I came to be briefed on our Highest Command’s defence concept by SS-Brigadier Meyer. However, in my lowly capacity, I could not use this extensive knowledge, as a platoon commander is only interested in his position and what is to the left and right of him should he have to make contact.
The party was quite jolly, if you can use that word to describe my men’s gallows humour. They got drunk, knowing full well what lay before them. Thanks to my new comrades from the band, I had music in the house, and several played industriously for the last time in their lives.
‘Sippenmeyer’ became drunk and his slurred speech was quite different to his arrogant talking before. This intrigued me more as he whispered into my ear tales of treason by Himmler and Goring. He went on stuttering: ‘There is only the Fuhrer now, only the Fuhrer.’ So they had already baled out, but I said to myself: ‘And what can we dummies do about it? We will share our Fuhrer’s fate.’
But even the best parties come to an end, as did mine. The next day we went into the city centre by tram, so low had the ‘Leibstandarte’ sunk. And then on by foot, one cannot describe it as marching, to Voss-Strasse and across to the Reichs Chancellery.
I gave the female tram driver a few goodies. I had had to leave most of my treasures behind and just hoped that the Russians would choke on them. Of course we had to leave most of our private possessions behind, as in every case of going into action. The fighting soldier has enough to carry as it is, but this was always the way.
So our whole battalion went by tram, for the vast amount of fuel that I had brought from Ferchland on the Elbe had been given to the Hamburg exodus, as a result of which the tanks of the ‘Nordland’[44] when they joined us later had no fuel with which to manoeuvre and had to be employed as static fire points.
As no one seemed interested in us here, I left my platoon on the Reichs Chancellery steps and went to look for accommodation with my section sergeants. The cellars under the Reichs Chancellery, where we looked first, were already occupied, not by combatants ready to take over the defence here, but by officials’ families waiting transport to take them away. This made me furious, for how could one fight here with women and children in the way?
So we went up to the ground floor, where there was an unusual to-ing and fro-ing of important-looking people, but again no real combatants. Here again all the rooms were occupied.
Then I looked into the Fuhrer’s study. This was empty. No one had dared move in here. I thought to myself: ‘Well the Fuhrer will not be working here any more, and my men are not accustomed to living in the open air, and they need accommodation, for the weather is fresh and rainy outside.’
The big windows had been blown out in the last air raid and no one had replaced them, as they would only be damaged again in the nightly raids, but at least one had a roof over one’s head. So I had my men come in, and they managed to fit in with all of their equipment.
Then I searched the big desk and found a box of cigars for visitors, as the Fuhrer smoked as little as I did in those days. There was also a bottle of good Cognac. I sampled it and finished the bottle, not bothering to look for glasses. Then I curled up on the wonderful carpet and slept. A soldier never knows what the next hour will bring. (According to a Soviet general, it later took fifteen men to remove the carpet so as to take it back to Moscow.)
I was rudely woken up during the night. Once I had pushed away the torch shining into my face, (there was no electric light because of the blackout) I saw an SD patrol standing in front of me and talking about shooting me as the senior rank present for desecrating the ‘Almighty’s’ study. The Fuhrer’s study was no doss house, etcetera. I tried to explain to them that I was fully aware of the significance of the room from my previous job in the Reichs Chancellery. We did not want to stay here but would go wherever we were ordered to fight, and that would happen sooner than they, whom one could see wore no decorations and had never been in action, could think.
My men, who had found some more Cognac and were full of bravado, crowded round us and said aggressively that there were only two possible ways of getting us out of here, either to find us better accommodation or to kill us. Neither of the SD ‘heroes’ were in a position to do anything. As they had nothing left to say, I suggested to them that they might like to join us as ammunition carriers, for it would be a shame if the war were to end without them even getting a sniff of powder. I would have a word about this with their chief, Criminal Director Hoegl, I suggested. They were fit enough, I said, having felt their arm muscles. But they did not want to know, and left us muttering threats. But how can one threaten a person already facing certain death?
So we settled down to sleep again. Then early in the morning SS-Lieutenant Puttkamer (a relative of Hitler’s naval adjutant) came in and introduced himself as my company commander. He started giving me a telling off for the way I had treated the SD patrol during the night. I rejected this sharply and said: ‘Unlike myself, you already knew yesterday what your appointment was to be and that you would be responsible for a company. Since you did not show yourself, I had to use my initiative. In case you are unaware of your responsibilities as the commander of a troop, you should know that it is no umbrella that can be left lying about anywhere.’
Thus I made it quite clear between us at the start. As he wore only the Iron Cross Second Class, it was quite obvious to me that he had not been exposed to real fighting before. Perhaps he had been adequately protected by his big-shot relative from having to go to the front, and so had also got a role like this, for there was no such thing as a mortar company in combat. Normally the platoon would be split up in direct support of either the regimental or battalion commander.
He took us down into the cellars, which had meanwhile emptied noticeably, the officials’ families having left during the night. The rooms he showed me were near Mohnke’s command post on Hermann-Goring-Strasse. They filled me with confidence as soon as I saw them, for they were constructed out of reinforced concrete and the partition walls of similar construction supported the ceiling. As an experienced builder, I saw this all with one glance. It would take an enormous shell to break through.
Our company commander occupied a small room down here with his heavily pregnant wife. ‘Good God,’ I thought, ‘is he crazy?’ He had stupidly taken a room with a window next to the outside wall, where the cellar was only one and a half metres below ground. The first shell to explode on the pavement would send splinters straight in. Naturally, I did not tell this superfluous warrior what I thought.
His wife was feeling permanently ill, which was not surprising in her condition, but she had to go on telling everyone about it, while he stood by saying nothing. With her too I had to draw a line, which made me look a unfeeling clot. He even had to sit beside her to comfort her when the shelling started.
After this exchange of words, I moved with my headquarters section into a small room and the rest settled down around. Our predecessors, like ourselves, had left their personal things behind. To my surprise there were a pair of highly polished officer’s jackboots and some passable breeches to go with them. I had not seen such beautiful boots for years, since my father, a master shoemaker, had made me such a pair. In one of them was a holster for a small pistol, a 6.35 Walther, and in the other was a sheath for a stiletto with a needle point and razor-sharp blade. I tried them on and they fitted perfectly. Then I tried walking a few steps in them, which took me out into the cellar passageway. A young woman came toward me with an Alsatian puppy. The puppy leant against one of the shining boots and pissed inside. I kicked him away, which did not please the young woman.
She scolded me and got a sharp response back. Then I noticed that my old company comrade Heinz Jurkewitz, who was now with the Fuhrer bodyguard, was standing behind her, making violent hand signals to me that I could not understand.
I shouted at her: ‘Get your dog out of here and leave us alone!’ Whereupon she put the puppy on the lead and went off with him without a word.
