The Isis Covenant (13 page)

We all saw the end approaching and had made our own arrangements, but the final collapse came so quickly that the men of Geistjaeger 88 were taken by surprise. We had been carrying out research and interrogations at Auschwitz in late January when the Russians broke through. Events pushed us north and west, towards Berlin, where we were forced to present
ourselves
for assignment at SS headquarters in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. At first, our written orders from Himmler kept us safe. Geistjaeger 88 made its home in a fine requisitioned apartment on Wilhelmstrasse and spent Germany’s dying weeks cataloguing the Reichsführer’s personal art collection and counting on its leader to get them out of the shit. But one day in early April, Ritter disappeared and Geistjaeger 88 went to war. A mere fifteen strong, we joined Battle Group Charlemagne of SS Division Nordland, tasked with the defence of Sector C as the Red Army attacked across the Oder. We were reluctant soldiers, Hartmann and I, unlike most of our comrades. For us it was fight or die, because those unwilling to fight were strung up on every corner with placards round their stretched necks. In those last days, I thought of nothing but escape, but there was no escape as we were forced street by street towards the city centre. All I knew was that, somehow, I had to get to the Crown and use it for the purpose the gods had intended
.

Early on the morning of the 29th we were ordered back to the bunker. The shattered remnant of Battle Group Charlemagne staggered through flurries of artillery, ignoring the deadly hail as if it was a summer shower. Black smoke billowed from the upper storeys of the Reichschancellery as we carried our wounded past the guards. The main entrance to the complex lay behind a reception hall and the first thing that struck you was the silence. For the first time in ten days there
was
no sound of Russian shells, no snap of tank fire, no buzz-saw rasp of machine guns. No sudden death waiting to take you before the next heartbeat. Just the groans of the wounded and the snarls of harassed staff officers trying to create some semblance of order among the chaos of the Third Reich’s Armageddon
.

‘
SS-Sturmbannführer Dornberger and Battle Group Charlemagne reporting on the orders of General Krukenberg.’ The adjutant at the desk smiled disbelievingly at the snap of heels and stared at the thirty grimy, bloodstained scarecrows crammed into the stairway, barely eight or nine of them unwounded, before checking a sheet on the metal desktop
.

‘
I have no orders for you yet, Sturmbannführer,’ he said dismissively. ‘You will have to wait.’ He turned back to his papers
.

I drew my pistol and placed it on top of the file he was reading. ‘My men need food. They haven’t eaten for three days
.’

He looked from me to the four stone-faced guards who stood with machine pistols pointed directly at my chest. A moment of doubt, before he decided he had better things to do than kill insubordinate SS officers
.

‘
Take these men to the dining room,’ he told an orderly. ‘See that they’re fed
.’

‘
And somewhere to sleep
.’

He shrugged wearily. ‘Shoot me if you must, but I’m afraid you’ll have to take your chances. You’ll see
.’

The orderly led us through the gas-proof door
.

Imagine the Seventh Pit of hell and the Last Judgement combined, but in a dank, concrete tomb where only the stifling, over-used air gave a semblance of warmth. The upper bunker had been partitioned into thirteen or fourteen rooms, with accommodation for Goebbels and his brood in two rooms to the left and the guest and guard quarters to the right. It had a wide central corridor that doubled as a dining room and a conference area. Somewhere in the labyrinth must have been a kitchen and storerooms. An unkempt horde of uniformed men and women crammed the rooms, some of the men drunk and the women less than half-dressed. Others slumped by the walls as the younger Goebbels children played around their outstretched feet, untroubled by the all-pervading stink of sweat and fear. And defeat. We looked in astonishment at the food and drink piled all around: champagne being drunk direct from the bottle; meats, cheeses and bread filling the tables that weren’t being used for more carnal purposes. The men of Charlemagne exchanged glances before frenziedly diving on the food. I liberated a bottle of pilsner, a loaf and some ham and found a place by the wall; Hartmann joined me, laying his machine pistol at his side. The last thing I heard before I plunged into a dreamless sleep was his whisper
.

‘
How the fuck are we going to get out of here?
’

For all I knew it might have been an eternity, but what seemed like only minutes later I was prodded awake by someone kicking my foot. I opened my eyes
to
find a man standing over me in the uniform of an SS general and automatically leapt to my feet. Hartmann stayed where he was, but I could tell he was awake
.

‘
So Heini’s removal men are here for the grand finale,’ Gruppenführer Johann Rattenhuber sneered. ‘Which is more than you can say for der treue Heinrich. I wouldn’t be trumpeting your loyalties around here. Your boss has sold out to the Americans and is trying to save his skin. The Führer would have him hanging from a meat hook if we could lay our hands on him
.’

I kept my eyes on the far wall and my mouth shut. If the head of Hitler’s personal bodyguard wanted me to speak, he’d tell me
.

He studied my uniform. ‘Sturmbannführer, eh? You must be Dornberger. Come with me, I have work for you. You too, trooper. You can stop pretending to be asleep. And bring your weapons
.’

Hartmann got to his feet like a scalded cat and together we followed Rattenhuber to the far end of the bunker, while the drunken throng parted in front of him as if he had the Angel of Death on his shoulder
.

‘
Swine,’ he spat contemptuously. ‘Have fun while you can. The Ivans are welcome to you
.’

A blond child of about four stepped in front of him as we reached the end of the conference room and he bent to pat her head. ‘Ach, Heidrun, liebling, where is your mama? You must find her and tell her Papa wishes to talk with her.’ A second older girl appeared and took her sister’s hand
.

‘
I will, Uncle Johann
.’

‘
Thank you, Helga.’ They stepped aside and Rattenhuber shook his head and sighed
.

Beyond the conference room lay a second gas door. He stopped in front of it and turned to us
.

‘
Through this door, you hear nothing, see nothing and say nothing. Understand?
’

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed past four SS guards and down two sets of stairs that led to a long hallway. In the centre of the far wall was another door, with yet more guards. We waited while it was opened and I could sense Hartmann’s growing fear. We had heard rumours about Hitler’s final refuge; the last thing we had expected was to be invited to share it. Beyond the first door was a second, which led in turn to a broad corridor with rooms to right and left. Compared to the fevered atmosphere above, this was like entering into a monastery. Officers walked between offices without giving us a glance, speaking in muted whispers that were drowned by the low hum of the generator
.

Rattenhuber knocked on the second door to the right
.

‘
Enter
.’

The man behind the desk wore a pristine brown uniform and had a moon-shaped scar on his forehead. He looked like a provincial butcher with too much liking for his own pork. At a smaller desk in the corner of the room a slim, dark-haired secretary sat with a pencil and notebook in her hands. She sniffed as she caught the scent of unwashed bodies and her eyes widened at the
filthy
uniforms and unshaven faces of the intruders
.

‘
What’s this?’ the man demanded
.

Rattenhuber nodded towards a steel door at the rear of the room and Reichsleiter Martin Bormann glared. ‘Get on with it then
.’

The general drew his pistol and pulled a key from his pocket
.

He turned to us. ‘Ready
.’

I unshouldered my assault rifle and heard a rattle as Hartmann did the same
.

The door swung open to reveal a tiny cell and a dishevelled, defeated-looking man sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and his head down. The prisoner’s hands were manacled in front of him and he wore the remnants of an SS uniform, from which every insignia of rank had been torn, leaving a few threads hanging. When he looked up, his eyes were glazed and red-rimmed. I could see that he recognized me and my heart stopped as he opened his mouth to say something
.

‘
The prisoner will remain silent,’ Rattenhuber barked. ‘Get up
.’

Hermann Fegelein used the wall to help himself unsteadily to his feet
.

‘
Bring him
.’

Bormann did not look up as we pushed Fegelein out of the office and turned right into the corridor. Fegelein had always been Himmler’s favourite, tall and handsome and reputed to be one of the finest horsemen in
the
Third Reich. Now he looked like a football with all the air kicked out of it. He staggered like a drunk and his clothing stank of stale urine. As we walked, he muttered to himself, but the only word I could identify was ‘betrayed’, repeated over and over again. I recognized all the signs, but I could feel Hartmann’s confusion. He looked at Fegelein and saw an SS Obergruppenführer: a general of cavalry and holder of the Knight’s Cross. Nazi aristocracy; the husband of Eva Braun’s sister Gretl. All I saw was a dead man walking
.

We continued into a long conference room, again with doors giving access to both sides, and from one of them emerged a stooped figure in dark trousers and an olive-green jacket
.

‘
Where is Greim?’ the familiar harsh voice demanded
.

General Rattenhuber froze and his arm shot out. ‘Heil Hitler
.’

Adolf Hitler turned to look directly at us. Dark eyes glared from a pale face, the flesh puffy with fatigue. He took in our filthy clothing at a glance and he began to shake with fury. ‘What …?’ He stumbled to a halt as he recognized Fegelein, turned on his heel and disappeared back into the room he’d come from
.

‘
Get him out of here,’ Rattenhuber hissed. ‘The stairs at the end of the corridor. Quickly
.’

I prodded the prisoner with the barrel of my MP-44 until we reached the stairway. ‘You go ahead,’ I ordered Hartmann. ‘We don’t want him making a run for it when we get to the top, do we?
’

The stairs rose in steep flights as if we were in some sort of tower. Halfway up the rattle of boots confirmed that General Rattenhuber had returned
.

‘
Move, we don’t have all day. Use your rifle butt if you have to
.’

When we reached the top, Hartmann was waiting, his rifle covering Fegelein as the condemned man climbed ahead of Rattenhuber and I. He backed out of the doorway and we followed into an open space surrounded by walls and the rear of the Old Reichschancellery. The ground had once been laid out with paths and shrubbery but it was churned up by shell holes. In the centre stood an ornamental turret that doubled as a ventilation shaft for the bunker
.

‘
Right, let’s get this over with,’ Rattenhuber said
.

‘
No, please …’ Fegelein’s voice shook as the general pushed him back against a wall and covered him with the pistol. An artillery round exploded somewhere nearby, but no one even flinched
.

‘
Hermann Fegelein, you have been found guilty by court martial of cowardice in the face of the enemy, leaving your post without orders and high treason. The sentence of the court martial is death by firing squad. Do your duty
.’

This last was to Hartmann and I. I raised the Sturmgewehr to my shoulder, but Hartmann froze like a rabbit in a hunter’s spotlight
.

In his final moments Fegelein straightened to his full height and looked directly at Rattenhuber. ‘I swear by
almighty
God, this sacred oath: I will render unconditional obedience to Adolf
—’

‘
Fire!
’

The first rounds from the assault rifle took the Nazi party’s former golden boy in the lower stomach and he jack-knifed forward into a stream of steel-jacketed bullets that slammed him backwards against the wall. The torn body slumped sideways, leaving a bright smear of scarlet on the concrete. Fegelein’s leg was still twitching spasmodically as Rattenhuber marched up to him
.

‘
Pig. A pity you didn’t remember your oath to the Führer when you were trying to run away with your mistress.’ He aimed his pistol and put a bullet into the already shattered head. ‘You,’ he pointed at Hartmann. ‘Since you don’t appear to be good for much else, get rid of this filth
.’

Hartmann looked from the body to me. Fegelein had been a big man, and well set. I shrugged
.

‘
You heard the general. There’s a gardener’s hut across by the wall. Find a shovel and bury him in the corner
.’

While Hartmann dug the grave, I sat on a nearby bench and lit a cigarette. Odd how peaceful it could be in the spring sunshine even with the Devil’s orchestra of distant battle competing with the sound of birdsong. An idea formed
.

‘
Will this do?’ Hartmann looked up worriedly from the shallow scrape he’d created. Sweat dripped from the
narrow
nose and his black hair was plastered across his forehead. He always had been a lazy little bastard
.

‘
Deeper,’ I ordered
.

It was another ten minutes before I was satisfied. By now the sound of nearby artillery had intensified and the two guards had retreated inside the shelter of the bunker’s rear entrance
.

‘
All right, get him
.’