Dönitz: The Last Führer (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden
…

The January morning is clear and crisp; sunlight glitters on a snow-laden tracery of branches and the bushes and trimmed hedges of Aumühle, outside Hamburg on the edge of the Saxon forest. Large houses built in the earlier years of the century with ornamented façades and balconies, each commanding its own enclosure of groomed lawn and shrubbery, look out on slow lines of cars and coaches; their drivers, searching for space to park, threaten to jam all traffic in this normally quiet little town. Those who have left their vehicles make their way beyond the houses towards a throng which winds off the road, inching, step by packed step, through a winter fairyland of white-mantled pines and frosted evergreens along the
Kirchenweg
.

The way opens eventually into a clearing before a round chapel built of red and purpling brick in the style of the 1930s; a conical roof showing green copper in places beneath the snow is surmounted by a short tower holding aloft a plain cross. It is the Bismarck Memorial Chapel; we are, in more senses than one perhaps, in Bismarck country. Inside, the last of only six Grand Admirals of the German Navy lies in a coffin draped with the black-red-gold flag of the
Bundesrepublik
; on the flag his service dagger; around the coffin an honour guard of elderly men stand with proud bearing and stern expression, the black-white-red ribbon and the glint of the Knight’s Cross over the knots of their black ties between the lapels of civilian overcoats. All are former naval officers. One stands in front holding a black cushion on which the Grand Admiral’s decorations are pinned, the Knight’s Cross, other Iron Crosses from the Kaiser’s time, the Imperial Medal, the U-boat medal prominent among them.

People from the head of the slow and ever-lengthening queue up the
Kirchenweg
are filing past to pay their last respects. Most are of the same generation as the honour guard; neither civilian clothes nor age conceal their bearing. Ribbons and Iron Crosses and here and there the oak leaves of supreme distinction flash at their throats. Some carry naval
pattern officers’ caps with the badge of the
U-bootfahrer-verband
or one of the Naval Associations; perhaps half of this gathering are old Navy men, but all other arms of the Third Reich are represented—there are former Panzer Commanders, Luftwaffe pilots, silver-haired Standarten-führers and Sturmbannführers of the
Waffen-SS
…

‘
War das nicht Mohnke?
’

Outside the crowd is still growing.

‘
Der Mohnke!
’ someone repeats. Wilhelm Mohnke, last SS-Brigade-führer at the Führerbunker in Berlin.

There are queues to sign the books of condolence opened out on tables beneath a long canopy rigged beside the chapel. Old comrades recognize one another; groups have formed; breath rises visibly in the frosty air; voices deplore the government’s refusal to grant a State Funeral or military honours to a holder of the Knight’s Cross, or to permit official or service representatives to attend, or even to allow the wearing of uniform, others marvel at the multitude who have nevertheless turned out on this freezing morning …

‘
Mensch, der Rudel! Hast du den Rudel gesehen?
’

Colonel Hans-Ulrich Rudel, the stuka ace with the highest German war decorations, strong sunburned face crowned with thinning white hair, leans on two crutches as he signs autographs for men as old as he who press around.

Those few from younger generations know instinctively they do not belong here; nothing need be said; it is in the bearing, the manner, the voices from another time, used to obey and to command, the vivid, shared experience of young manhood when for a short span they were the masters of Europe—and of the
Niedergang
, the terrible retribution. These are survivors of the German holocaust here to honour their last leader, long since claimed or disclaimed by history, and to reassure themselves of their own honour amid events from which the rest of the world and the government of their new
Bundesrepublik
has recoiled. The few short-haired leather-jacketed youths from
Gau-Hansa
and other neo-Nazi movements who have joined them are probably as alien to them as the curious and sceptical young Press representatives, rather surprised by this great gathering, who seek its meaning.

Perhaps the legends on the wreaths provide a clue: ‘
Unserem Reichspräsidenten zum Gedenken
’ from an Association of those from German eastern lands; ‘
Geschichte wertet, Menschen irren
’—history appraises, men err—from a member of the
Bundestag
; a simple wreath from
‘
Wolf-Rüdiger, Ilse und Rudolf Hess
’, another from the U-boat Association Walter Forstmann—the name of a First World War U-boat ace, who was in fact Dönitz’s first submarine commander—one from the survivors of U 309, one from ‘Crew 36’; ‘
In treuem Gedenken
’ from
Oberleutnant zur See
Kummetz, former Commander U 235; ‘
Unserem Vorbild an Tapferkeit, Treue und Ritterlichkeit
’ our model of courage, loyalty and chivalry from German Youth-leader on a bow of red-white-red, the colours of the former Hitler Youth; ‘
Er hielt unserem Vaterland die Treue
’—he kept faith with our Fatherland—from the soldiers of the former
Waffen-SS
on a bow of silver and black; ‘
Treue um Treue
’ from
3 Panzerkorps; ‘Deutschland wird leben
’—Germany will live—‘
Sein Ruhm überdauert die Zeit
’—his renown outlasts the age—‘
Dem Retter von Millionen ostdeutscher Flüchtlinge, dem Grossadmiral, dem letzten Staatspräsidenten in Dankbarkeit und Treue
’—to the saviour of millions of East German refugees, to the Grand Admiral, to the last State President in gratitude and loyalty … the messages are legion.

The service has started. It is well over two hours since the doors of the chapel were opened, and the last of those wishing to file through have had to be almost forcibly restrained. Now a loudspeaker relays the words of Rear Admiral Edward Wegener to the crowds outside; he speaks of the Grand Admiral’s life, ‘grounded on the virtues—now so unjustly reviled—of the Imperial Naval Officer Corps—honour—selfless devotion to duty—patriotism—unswerving loyalty to the government …’
¹

Heinrich Jaenecke, one of those listening in the snow, vividly recalling the terror of the last days of the Third Reich when, little more than a schoolboy, he had been quartered in barracks not an hour’s drive from Aumühle, has an unequivocal inward response:

‘There it is, the word that excuses all. The loudspeaker trumpets it over the wide cemetery: loyalty—the great German lie, the general pardon for all blindness, cowardice, irresponsibility …’
²

‘… Grand Admiral Dönitz,’ from the loudspeaker, ‘was a great military leader. His leadership came of tenacity of aim and clarity. He won the hearts of his men through an inimitable charisma …

‘He had the gift of recognizing the kernel of every problem and of representing its essentials simply to everyone. He had ability in decision and energy to translate into action that which he found right. He was the man of the young generation, innovative and rich in ideas. He was of their spirit. He inspired the young officer corps of the U-boat arm as well as the petty officers and men to fulfil their duty. Even in the hardest
phases of the war with huge losses the U-boat arm never wanted volunteers.

‘This leadership based on soldierly virtues made the U-boat men of the Second World War a united band which, proud in success, finally made a sacrifice recalling examples from the ancient world.’

When appointed C-in-C of the Navy, Wegener continues, Dönitz had stepped outside purely military affairs and had been drawn into politics. Needing Hitler’s confidence to carry out his tasks for the Navy, he had gained it, and it was because of this and his unswerving loyalty to the end that Hitler had appointed him as his successor.

‘Today, free from the prejudices of the time, one has to pose the question, whether obedience alone can do justice to the ethical principles of German soldiership …’

Towards the end of his oration Wegener comes to the fact that the Federal Ministry of Defence is not represented at the funeral, an implied rebuke vigorously supported by the congregation with whistles of shame.

‘The Grand Admiral is even denied the honours due a holder of the Knight’s Cross …’

More whistles.

‘The life of a great soldier is ended. His name is now part of history. We men of the old Navy thank him for his example as leader. We thank him for leading us immaculately in war. We thank him for the firmness with which he brought the war to an end. Beyond the grave he has our affection and our grateful veneration.

‘The men of the old Navy are proud that he was one of us.’

Several others add their tributes; finally the parish priest, Pastor Hans-Jochen Arp, speaks of the man who lived his last years amongst them here as ‘a quiet citizen’ associating with all ‘without any sign of rank or dignity’.
³
He had been a Christian, a regular attender at this Church, where he sat in the second row in the middle, covered in a woollen rug. After the death of his wife he had asked the Pastor if he might embellish the family grave with a large carved wooden crucifix.

‘I said to him, “That is really not usual here. Why do you want it?” His answer was, “Because He is the only one to whom finally I can adhere.” ’

Later, discussing his own funeral service Dönitz had told him that he wished to be buried under the colours of the
Bundesrepublik
—‘The Imperial flag is out of the question. On my coffin it has to be the black-red-gold flag.’

‘That is a “Yes” to loyalty to our State,’ the Pastor continues. ‘We can only follow him—I believe—if we ourselves therefore say “Yes” and hold to this loyalty. Our activity today is therefore no festival of rebellion, hate or resignation. Be done with madness! Heal what is to be healed! Save men! That was his attitude, which also binds us …

‘He was, for me, one of the most devout Christians I have met.’

After the orations a hymn; the naval band assembles on the path leading into the cemetery, all members wearing civilian clothes with naval pattern officers’ caps. Standard-bearers, holding aloft Naval Association and old Imperial war flags, precede the red-black-gold bedecked coffin carried by former U-boat officers, each a Knight of the Iron Cross. Retired Korvettenkapitän Adalbert Schnee leads with the medal cushion; he was a notable U-boat Commander and member of the late Grand Admiral’s staff who, in the last days of the war when everything was collapsing and the allies had complete command of sea and air, took out the first of a new type of U-boat, prepared at well past the eleventh hour to re-open the offensive against shipping.

Through the crowds packed along either side of the path and hiding the well-tended plots beneath the winter mantle of this beautiful woodland cemetery, the Grand Admiral is borne to the drum beat of the funeral march. The path winds among bushes—then suddenly there it is, the great carved crucifix, high above the gathered people, Christ with a crown of snow, sorrowful head bent, arms wide-stretched as if to receive His servant.

Below, a great irregular block of granite like some rune is carved with the single word
DÖNITZ;
to one side at its base is a memorial tablet:

Ingeborg Dönitz

Geborene Weber

10.12.1893 + 2.5.1962

There is another, larger memorial stone bearing two names:

The U-boat men turn slowly either side of the fresh earth heaped by the grave and move the coffin from their shoulders. The band is silent as the
coffin is lowered in. The Pastor recites the final moving words of the burial service—and then—spontaneously it seems—from a thousand throats the old German song, the forbidden first verse of the
Deutschlandlied
rises from every side.

‘
Deutschland—Deutschland über alles,

Über alles in der Welt
…’

The Pastor’s lips are closed.

‘
Wenn es stets zum Schutz und Trutze

Brüderlich zusammenhält
.

Von der Maas bis an die Memel,

Von der Etsch bis an den Belt
—

Deutschland
—
Deutschland
…’

For Heinrich Jaenecke, the song sounds like a blasphemy over the graves. He is transported back to May 1st 1945, when he heard on the radio the metallic voice of the Grand Admiral, ‘The Führer has fallen—one of the greatest heroes of German history—but the fight must go on …’ He and others sprang from the window of the barracks and ran away across the fields.

Jaenecke and his companions managed to survive without capture and two or three days later were lying out in a meadow under the spring sunshine when they heard the sound of a motor. It was a jeep with four Englishmen in it, singing.