Prologue
20 April 1945, Berlin
Twelve-Year-Old Alfred Czech stood silent amongst a group of around thirty boys in uniform. Born in Poland, surnamed Czech and about to be honoured by the Germans, who had invaded his country so long ago he could not recall life before them. His whole life had seemed confusing. The day was cold for April, the sky grey and smoky, the bombs of the Russian army falling silent for some time. The Russians were now on the outskirts of the great city of Berlin, pushing harder each hour to encroach on the two million souls that were living now as cockroaches beneath the rubble that once held the idealism of a brave new world. It would only be days, maybe hours before the so-called master race was enslaved by the Russians and Alfred Czech heard the fear in the other boy’s voices. The laughter and bravado had disappeared, replaced by fear and uncertainty. It seemed a lifetime ago from just a few weeks beforehand, when he had taken his father’s horse and cart and rescued ten German soldiers who were wounded and under heavy mortar attack from the Russians. For that deed, today he was to be awarded the Iron Cross, one of the most revered awards in the German military.
The scene around him was one of cataclysmic-styled destruction. The boys’ lives and those of the soldiers with them were at risk of just being outside. The garden of Berlin’s old Reich Chancellery, with its crisp gravel paths, manicured lawns and trimmed trees had been almost totally destroyed by bombs. The beauty was reduced to a wasteland. It was catastrophic as he would describe in the media, time and time again during his life.
The boys that surrounded him were affectionately known to the public as ‘Hitler Youth’, most of them being about the age of sixteen and today, all accordingly being awarded campaign medals for repelling a host of Soviet tanks on Berlin’s eastern front.
Czech didn’t know much about the war, why it was happening or who was right or wrong. He had grown up with it for as long as he could remember, and whilst he was destined to a future that would see him have ten children of his own, one for each German soldier he had saved, he would still see more action in the final days of the war, eventually becoming a prisoner. Today all he could focus on was the man he had read and heard so much about, the German people’s saviour; The Fuhrer.
To Czech, Adolf Hitler appeared very different in real life from what Czech had seen in newspapers. In them, he was portrayed as a godlike figure. Confident, forthright, sure, the news painted Hitler as Germany’s only hope for a future not plagued by Jews and Gypsys, a Germany to who the rest of the world could only look up to, a Germany in its rightful place. The greatest nation ever, beyond Egypt or Rome. Germany was a rich society, and Hitler would bring it more. That was the message media and the spruikers like Goebbels touted and had done for years.
Czech stole sideways glances at the Fuhrer, maintaining his position in line and feeling the dreaded apprehension that seemed to amplify along the line of boys. Hitler seemed modest in height by Czech’s farming family background as a comparison. He also appeared older in real life than in pictures. Hitler strode purposefully along the line of boys, shaking their hands and awarding their medals, which were pinned on by a second man in uniform. Hitler had his left hand behind his back constantly, but when Czech did see it he believed it to be trembling. He thought that strange. Maybe Hitler too was scared but did not want to show it. Then before another moment had passed Czech found himself staring into the deepest blue eyes he could ever imagine. The Fuhrer bent down and stroked Czech’s cheek with his right hand.
“Und wie alt bist du junger Mann?” ‘How old are you, young man?’
“Zwölf Mein Fuhrer.” ‘Twelve My Fuhrer’
“Wenn Sie mehr Mut hätten, wären die russischen Waffen möglicherweise weiter entfernt.” ‘If there were more with your courage, the Russian guns may be further away.’
Czech was pinned with his medal. Hitler smiled and caressed his cheek once more, then it was done. He and the other boys were roused to say; ‘Heil Hitler’ and salute. Hitler nodded and then scampered back to his underground bunker at a quick pace, constantly checking the sky, followed by a small entourage.
* * *
It was Adolph Hitler’s fifty-sixth birthday. It should have been a happy occasion, but it was sheer dread for him and his closest advisors and friends. His precious Berlin was in ruins, the filthy Russians attacking from all sides. The American’s surely savaging the elite German women throughout the countryside. How could it have come to this? Luck was his a few years ago, now the tides had turned and surely their days were numbered. Hitler sat on a small stool, looking at nothing in particular inside the bunker. He had been doing that for the last hour, deep in his own thoughts, his foot tapping constantly on the floor.
The Third Reich began on 30 January 1933, just twelve years before. That Polish boy named Czech, to whom he had awarded the medal, was twelve thought Hitler. Maybe he was part of this damnation. Poles… he should have killed them all, but he had needed workers. The Third Reich was meant to last a thousand years and be the third great regime after Rome and the previous German Empire which collapsed at the end of World War One in 1918.
“Maybe today you would like a small Goring-Schnapps my Fuhrer?“
The voice was that of Joseph Goebbels. Goebbels was born in 1897. He was forty-seven years old. Born with a deformity in his foot that led him to constantly wear a brace during his life, Goebbels was constantly in some level of pain. He seemed to compensate for that, and his inability to serve in the first war due to the deformity, by his superior brain, and his ability to speak clearly and rationally in all situations. He was obsessed with power over women having had numerous affairs, one in particular with a Czech actress to Hitler’s disgust. Another race of people Hitler hated. Hitler had sent the woman away and sent Goebbels scurrying back to Magda, his wife, with whom Goebbels shared six children, one of whom Magda had previously. Hitler himself had been encouraged to have the party for his birthday by his partner Eva Braun, a Munich born blonde who had met Hitler in 1929 and became his lover two years later at the age of nineteen.
“You know I don’t drink and if I did, the last drink I would take is one named after that idiot, Goring. He has cost us many victories.“
Hitler was short and to the point and held up his hand to dismiss Goebbels who had obviously had one too many already.
Goebbels shrugged and floated off to a sofa with Magda and other women, topping up their glasses, with what today is known as Jagermeister. Hitler glared at them with distaste and wandered off to his room.
Goebbels had become a Nazi, after reading Hitler’s book ‘Mein Kampf’ in 1927. The seven-hundred-and-twenty-page book outlined Hitler’s reasons for becoming Anti-Semitic and his political ideology and vision for Germany. Having gone to see Hitler speak, he wrote in his journal; ‘I love him’ and became party member number 8,762. Starting as a speaker for the party, he soon became a powerful craftsman of propaganda and Hitler took a shine to him. Goebbels was bold for someone with a non-military background, inciting riots and attacks against Jewish Germans. He was a founder of the feared Schutzstaffel (SS), which was initially set up as the protective echelon for Hitler and senior party officials. Early he had claimed in the press when he was asked why Hitler did not take the role of a monarch that; ‘There are no Princes, only Germans’. Yet not everyone took him seriously even after seventeen years at the party. Hermann Goring, head of the Luftwaffe said; ‘Goebbels hates everybody and everybody hates Goebbels’.
“Leave him, my dear. Let Eva soothe him. She has that way. Come celebrate his life today. Sit with us and tell us one of your stories. You do entertain us so.”
The voice was that of Magda Goebbels, who knew her husband was concerned about the Fuhrer. Of late, cooped up in this hole under the ground like rats, Hitler had become more and more distant. He had developed a tremor in his left hand, slight yet visible. His strong blue eyes that had engaged millions had fallen sallow behind deep bags and dark lines. Everyone knew the Fuhrer had stomach problems that had gone on for years but were now almost unbearable for the man. He had long given up even drinking beer and was a vegetarian. To make matters worse it was becoming increasingly more difficult to gain fresh vegetables in the current predicament.
They had been in the bunker for several weeks. Whilst large, it was teeming with staff. Goebbels, his wife and children, radio operators, doctors and nurses, secretaries, and senior people came and went, and there were generally at least a couple of dozen people underground at any one time, including Hitlers’ dog, Blondi.
Martin Bormann grabbed the bottle from Goebbels. Bormann was resting on the edge of the sofa engaged in conversation with some of the women also. Anyone coming into the scene would have felt it was an intimate party that had almost a lustful overtone. Bormann, a Prussian post office employee, prior to him joining the Nazi party, had become Hitler’s private secretary. A privileged position that saw him head of the Nazi party Chancellery, their head office, he was also a friend of Hitler’s. Bormann topped up his own drink and was getting up to attend to Hitler.
“Stay Martin. I will check on the Fuhrer.“
The hand of Bormann’s shoulder was the assured comfort of that of thirty-four-year-old Joseph Mengele. Having gained a PhD in Anthropology in Munich in 1934, Mengele went on to become a doctor in 1938. Always one with a determination and sense of duty, he served on several fronts and in Ukraine during the early part of the war. Wounded on several occasions, in his role as a field doctor for the SS, in the end, he was taken from active duty. Mengele was placed in a camp that become known to the world as Auschwitz and began a bizarre and terrible serious of experiments on children, particularly twins, following his interests in genetics, earning him the name; ‘The Angel of Death’.
Mengele raised a hand and stroked back his full dark wavy hair, greased back. He finished his drink and left the main room. Several doors down from the small lounge was Hitlers’ room. The walls of the corridor still smelt of fresh paint. Hitler had it done to ‘keep up appearances. The tiny front office to Hitlers’ quarters was open and behind it was the sitting room. Mengele knocked and heard ‘Eintraten’ through the door. He opened the door. The sitting room of Hitler’s quarters was small; three metres by four metres. It contained a small writing desk of no great distinctiveness, two chairs with wicker inserts in the arms, a beige nondescript fabric and a matching two-seater couch in the Bavarian style. Hitler had obviously been lying on the couch.
“What is it, Dr Mengele?” Hitler was curt in his tone, yet with a hint of lethargy. Already the shelling of Berlin had begun from the Russian guns and the ground occasionally shook when one landed close. Hitler constantly had the rooms swept for dust that was being dislodged from the bunker during the blasts.
“I am concerned for your health my Fuhrer. Today is your birthday. It is important to show the people your leadership, even in these troubling times, even if just for a few minutes.“
The Fuhrer waved him off, turning his eyes away. “As it is my birthday, I can only hope that General Steiner does his job and forces the Red Army out of this city. Damn those Russians, we should have decimated them in Stalingrad. Every day the end gets closer.” Hitler seemed to drop his head. Eva Braun entered from a door that led to the bathroom. She carried a small glass of water and some pills.
“These will help. His stomach has been cramping again doctor.”
“I’m not sure much at all can help us now.” Hitler lamented showing a rare moment of vulnerability in front of Mengele.
“Our belief is at the core of our world,” Mengele spoke the words in almost a whisper.
Hitler looked up, a calculating stare tracking the doctors’ mood. “That’s from Mein Kampf.” the Fuhrer sparked as if remembering his own passion at the time he wrote it.
“It is my Fuhrer. We have not abandoned you or our cause and nor can you. This war has left a terrible toll on you. One will never know what you have had to deal with. I will have Miss Braun give you something stronger, that will raise your constitution. You will have a plan. I know you will. You will never let Germany fall.“
Hitler looked him up and down and indicated for Mengele to sit. “I will not be taken. I will not be a prisoner or made to stand trial. I will not have Eva succumbed to that indignation.“
“It is certain, Doctor” Eva Braun stood beside the man she loved and put her hand on Hitler’s shoulder. “The Fuhrer and I will not be taken. We will kill ourselves. We have talked to others. Magda and Joseph Goebbels, have said they will kill themselves, and their children. Magda will not have her children grow up in a world without a German way of life. Joseph says that if there is no racial purity, then none of their family will stay on this earth. You must give us what we need, to make this quick, painless and certain.“
Mengele looked at the conviction of Eva Braun. Hitler nodded his agreement. They had made their choice. The Third Reich was to end with the death of Adolph Hitler. Mengele scratched his chin; “When?“
Hitler stared at Mengele with the eyes that had swayed sixty-nine million people to do what the world would say were terrible things, crimes against humanity. “Not yet. There is still a couple of things I must do, but it will happen fast if the Russians get closer.“
“Good… Then we still have time.” A broad smile came across the face of the Angel of Death, Joseph Mengele.
