Free Hitler's Last Witness by Rochus Misch Page A

trying to keep myself awake with cognac and chocolate. The situation was more hopeless with every passing minute. To the north of Berlin, Soviet troops had advanced to Pankow and the frontline already ran along Gesundbrunnen and Bernauer-Strasse. To the east of the city, the Red Army had reached Karlshorst and Friedrichsfelde and had penetrated the inner defensive ring. Hitler’s hoped-for breach between the Western Powers and the Russians had not come about, and neither had the attack by General Felix Steiner. [2] Around midday, preparations were made for the situation conference. Keitel, Jodl, Krebs, Burgdorf and Bormann were already in the Führerbunker. The commanders-in-chief, who had removed themselves from Berlin, were represented by their adjutants: Dönitz by Vice-Admiral Hans-Erich Voss; Göring by Brigadier Eckhard Christian; Himmler by Major General Hermann Fegelein; and Ribbentrop by diplomat Walther Hewel. I had the commander-in-chief of Ninth Army, General Theodor Busse, on the line, and I connected him to Burgdorf. Busse reported: ‘The bitter fighting has as its hallmark the increasing excessive demands made of the troops and the irreplaceable losses in men and materials.’ I listened into the whole conversation – contrary to regulations. I was hoping to find a few sparks of hope, but I found none.
    The telephone rang again. Our chief Franz Schädle was on the other end of the line. I had been noting down the main points of reports mentally. For this reason, I extracted only fragments of what he was saying: ‘Machine – fly out – place reserved. Fetch your wife.’ Suddenly I was wide awake. A place had been reserved for my wife and daughter in one of the last aircraft to leave Berlin. They could fly out. To Berchtesgaden. It was almost incredible. I was quite overcome; in all the chaos somebody had thought of Misch, the bunker telephonist.
    I was released from duty, and a colleague from the motor pool drove me to Rudow. Berlin was deserted; nobody was about. The man drove as fast as the ruined streets allowed. At our flat nobody was at home – doors and windows gaped open. The Russians blew up closed houses at once, they said. I guessed that Gerda and Gitta would be in an air-raid shelter about four hundred metres away. I had myself driven there, looked for them and happily found them very quickly. Gerda fell into my arms straight away. Her reaction to my life-saving news came as a terrible blow to me. She shook her head. No, she could not fly out, she said. Brigitta, our one-year old daughter, had a high fever. Furthermore, she did not want to leave her parents alone in Berlin. I tried to persuade her, mentioned the atrocities committed by the Russians against civilians in East Prussia, of which I had heard. I failed to convince her. ‘It is the last chance, Gerda,’ I implored. ‘The very last!’ But she had decided. She shook her head sadly and pressed her emergency bag into my hand. ‘Here, take this with you.’ I could not remain any longer, got back into the car and tossed the bag onto the back seat – my mind a blank.
    It would be many long years before I saw Gerda and Gitta again. I missed the personality of my daughter developing, never heard her first words, missed her schooling, knew nothing of her joys and troubles as a young girl. Gitta was told about her Papa, but not about Misch, Hitler’s bunker telephonist. We were never able to regain what we had lost.
    Back at the Reich Chancellery, I reported immediately to the chief of the SS bodyguard, Schädle, in the upper region of the cellars: ‘My family won’t fly.’ He did not pursue the matter, but said merely: ‘Then I must offer the seat elsewhere.’ I nodded and resumed my duties. ‘Is there anything for the boss? Anything for me to take down?’ Schädle had nothing for Hitler.
    There was great activity in the Führerbunker. This