The majority of the others had been started to disappear even before Hitler shot himself but after Fegelein was brought back that had stopped. Mohnke had led a couple of groups of soldiers, officers, secretaries and functionaries out last night in the vain attempt to get through the Russians and out to our lines. I should have gone with them but...
I looked down at the black and white picture of Tanja on my desk, even in the darkness of the picture her eyes sparkled and shone with inner beauty. Her blonde plats an unflattering pale grey. I remembered the last time I had seen her in the flesh on that sooty railway platform eight months ago in Breman. So many things we weren't allowed to say to each other, admit what we both knew was going to happen. The busy station dissolved into a microcosm of just the two of us, our eyes locked and that moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, the last moment we would be together, we told each other all we needed to with just that eye contact. She knew the likelihood of me returning to her was low, the war was lost and even though I had been invalided out of the front line I would get caught up in Berlin.
I'd seen reports from the bombing and the damage that Bremen had received, had read every casualty report as it came in with that tight knot in my stomach half expecting to see her name on the list, to know that she was gone and each time I was relieved to see that she wasn't there and she must still be alive or in captivity now. She had always been resourceful - I'm sure she has got out and is safe. Safer than I am.
I took another sip of brandy from the Fuhrer's personal stock and let it burn down my throat and into my churning gut and slammed the glass down on the hard wood desk. What did it matter anymore?
I tried to stand but my legs were unsteady from the alcohol and the long periods of sitting in contemplation. Reaching out to steady myself I knocked the brandy glass to the floor shattering it into a crystalline cloud and leaving an amber puddle over the documents that were scattered over the workstation. Tanja's picture too, fell over and her high cheek boned visage was torn and gashed by the glass that was meant to protect it.
I dropped to my knees in tears clutching the remnants of the frame and pleading with her for forgiveness. Forgiveness for leaving her to join the army, forgiveness for being duped by the vision of a lunatic, forgiveness for the suffering I had caused her and others like her. My mother beset with worry, my father disappointed I hadn't followed him into the Navy, my brothers who had followed me and not come home and even the mother of that Russian Soldier I had killed outside Kiev. To all the mother's who had lost sons due to my orders out there be they German or foe. My soldiers, Gefrieter Wittman, Oberfeldwebel Hoenisch even Leutnant Teuber who had fallen at my side as we marched into that Russian village well behind the lines, killed by a partisan sniper. I yearned for forgiveness from all of them, something that I knew most could not give me, for what can the dead grant the living?
Wiping a tear from my eye I pulled myself up and stepped out of the darkened room and into the concrete corridor lit by the harsh strip lights that ran along the ceiling. It smelt of damp, blood and death. Papers were scattered where they had fallen, furniture broken by drunken debauchery as those who felt they had nothing left to live for tried to destroy all that was left of their former existence.
I walked for what seemed miles, deeper and deeper into that dark hell, slowly drawing my Luger in case I ran into a Russian patrol but I saw no signs of life, only the dead slumped over their desks, eyes shut and blood and brains sprayed over the walls or the white eyed death stares of cyanide poison. Rounding a corner I came across the fresh bodies of the two men who had recently been Generals Krebs and Burgdorf. Their gloved hands still held the pistols that had taken their lives, the barrels still pointed at the temples of their ruined heads blood and ickour over their uniforms, the walls and carpets.
I felt the brandy in my stomach pushing to escape in one violent jolt but I managed to force it all back down and control myself. I had seen worse in Russia, a lot worse. I was an Oberleutnant in the German Infantry not a school boy balking and running to the protection of my mother's skirts.
But i was running.
Whilst my mind fought to control my stomach it had failed to stop my legs and now I was in full tilt back the way I had come, back to the safety of my office.
I slammed the door shut and poured myself another brandy before collapsing on the floor cradling the amber liquid and rocking back and forth in terror like that frightened school boy. This was where I was going to die, there was no way out. The Russians would be here soon and they would kill me where I lay or worse, cart me back to one of their dreaded camps in Siberia to die of disease or starvation or worse survive and return to Germany a hollow shell of a man who had seen too much, a coward who had not died on his feet.
I looked at myself in the mirror next to my bunk and saw a dishevelled drunk, a disgrace to the uniform and the Iron cross I wore on my breast.
What would Teuber say of me now? Or Thielman? Or Hoenisch? Or Tanja?
I was overcome with rage and I launched the brandy at the mirror sending a spray of glass and shards of mirror across the room in an explosion of light reflecting debris. I began incoherently shouting at the spectres of the dead, demanding them to speak, chastising them for not being here, for not knowing what I am going through.
The white hot rage did not last long and I lapsed once more into depression and self loathing. Fresh out of glasses I pulled myself to my feet and crossed to the decanter of Brandy on my desk reaching out for another mouthful of relief but at the last moment I pulled my hands short as my eyes met her eyes, the gentle smile, her beautiful hair.
She's still alive, I told myself. I must get to her, but not as this dishevelled wretch but as the man she last saw on the platform in Bremen. I was an officer and a gentleman of the Wehrmacht.
I moved like a man possessed over to the wardrobe and withdrew a clean uniform and began to change into the fresh tunic and trousers. I neatly re pinned the Iron Cross first class and my other meagre awards, including my black wound badge, on my breast and neatened up the ribbons before turning on my boots and polishing them to a mirror shine. I quickly shaved and combed my hair before clipping on my belt and pistol holster. The visage in the shattered remains of the mirror looked more like a respectable German officer, a man who could control his own destiny even if I felt I could not!
My mind began to sharpen, shirking off the dullness induced by the Brandy and I formulated a check list of what I would need to take with me. I pulled on my Steel helmet and great coat before snatching up some spare ammunition and heading out of the door towards the stores and armoury.
The corridors held no fear or apprehension for me now, this would not become my tomb as it had the others, I am going to live, I am going to escape and get back to Tanja and my family.
The store rooms were fairly depleted but I managed to scrape together some supplies, a few dried sausages, some tins of meat and potatos, a canteen of brandy for the cold nights and two canteens of water, who knew when I would get a chance to drink clean water again? A few other necessities like matches, blankets, a Karbiner 98 rifle and three pouches of bullets and a torch finished off the list and I began to head for the exit, full of hope.
Outside Germany lay in ruins, the streets were shattered and the people in terror and beaten but in here... In the bunker they were deluded, separated by the thick concrete and tonnes of earth between them and the surface. It had been like the last days of Caligula in the wake of the Fuhrer's death and all sense of structure had gone. I had stayed apart from it save for heavy drinking in the locked office but now, now I was completely free.
I reached the great metal doors and heaved them open to reveal the sunlight of the May morning, the cool fresh air that hit my face - I couldn't help but smile at the freedom and the promise that it offered. I just needed to head west and try and avoid any patrols.
I'm coming home to you Tanja, I will see you again, I will not die here alone and forgotten in this wasteland.
WAR RECORD Oblt. Klaus Schiller
Born: Bremen 4th May 1920,
Enlisted: May 1939
Served: 137th Infantry Division in Greece, and Army group Centre in Russia.
Wounded on 23rd September 1943 on patrol. Invalided out.
Moved to Army Intelligence for Army Group Centre.
Moved with Krebs back to Berlin and OKH
MIA 1st May 1945. Last seen in the Fuhrer's bunker on 30th April
