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“Yes, mein Führer,” Linge whispered.
“Heinz,” Hitler said. “You’re much closer to the staff than any of us here. So tell me, how do you think they will react to my plan as I’ve laid it out?”
Linge thought about it for a moment. “Mein Führer, I can only imagine there would be initial shock and great disappointment. But upon careful consideration, I believe they would come to see that your decision is best for Germany.”
“Thank you, Heinz. I was hoping that was the case.”
The valet got to his feet. “Will there be anything else, mein Führer?”
“Oh, yes. Sit down, Heinz,” said Hitler. “We have much more to discuss.”
117
April 27, 1945
Berlin
ERICH VON DER HAAS stood looking out over the battered city of Berlin. The street in front of their building had burst open overnight, the target of an aerial bomb that had spared their building by only meters.
“We can’t stay here anymore,” said Thomas Bauer. “It’s not safe.”
Von der Haas ignored him, continuing to scribble notes on a pad of paper.
“Erich?” Bauer said again.
His friend turned. “The shelling and bombing increase over seventy percent once night falls. During the day, it’s only scattered pockets. The moment it gets dark, they turn up the attacks significantly.”
“They probably figure they’ll be more effective when people are sleeping. Even soldiers have to sleep.”
“I guess.”
“You have a different theory?”
“No. I don’t really care why. I just care about that fact. It’s counterintuitive. Berlin is actually safer during the day.”
“Are you kidding? It’s not safe at all out there. There’s Red Army everywhere—”
“I didn’t say ‘safe,’ Bauer. I said ‘safer.’ It’s safer during the day. It’s all relative.”
“Okay, well, it’s not safe in this flat at all anymore. We have to leave.”
Von der Haas nodded. “I know. And you know what that means. We have to move into the Vorbunker.”
“I assume nobody will object. The place has lost more than half its staff. Anyone dumb enough to want to stay in the bunker is probably welcome.”
“Yeah, and it also means we’ll probably never get out.” Von der Haas put down his notepad and walked over to Bauer. “You’ve done your best to help get me close to him. You don’t have to—”
“I’m going with you.” Bauer loaded bottles of liquor into his rucksack. “Pack up.”
They ran through the streets of Berlin as the city grew dark. There was only one guard outside the bunker. He nodded to them as if they were old friends. “You have any vodka in there?”
“How much time do we have left?” Bauer asked him.
“A day or two at most,” said the guard.
Nobody noticed the oversized bags they carried. Everyone was on edge. The end was near. The dreaded moment was coming soon. The alcohol helped but could not altogether blunt the rising sense of panic. The shelling began to intensify, reverberations felt every ten minutes or so. Erich is right, Bauer realized. The Allies step up the attacks from dusk to dawn.
One of the staff, Ingrid, pulled a bottle of champagne from an SS guard and poured herself a glass. “What are you going to do when the Russians breach the bunker?” she asked the guard. “Are you going to lay down your weapon or fight?”
