Reymann tried to discuss the matter with Hitler. He had seen him only twice: on assuming command and a few days later when he was invited to attend one of the Führer’s nightly conferences. At that meeting the discussion was mostly about the Oder front and Reymann did not get an opportunity of explaining the situation in Berlin. But at one point during a lull in the proceedings, he spoke to Hitler and urged that he immediately order the evacuation of all children under ten from the capital. In the sudden silence that followed Reymann’s suggestion, Hitler turned toward him and asked icily, “What do you mean? What exactly do you mean?” Then, slowly, emphasizing each word, he said, “There are no children in that age group left in Berlin!” No one had dared contradict him. Hitler quickly passed on to other matters.
The rebuff did not deter the Berlin Commandant. Reymann now pressed Goebbels on the same subject. “Herr Reichsminister,” he said, “how will we support the population in the event of a siege? How will we feed them? Where is the food to come from? According to the mayor’s statistics there are 110,000 children under ten with their mothers in the city right now. How are we to provide babies with milk?”
Reymann paused, waiting for an answer. Goebbels continued to stare out the window. Then, without turning, he snapped: “How will we feed them? We’ll bring livestock in from the surrounding countryside—that’s how we’ll feed them! As for the children, we have a three months’ supply of canned milk.” The canned milk was news to Reymann and Refior. The livestock proposal seemed madness. In a battle cows would prove more vulnerable than human beings, who could at least take shelter. Where did Goebbels plan to herd the animals? And what would they feed on? Reymann spoke up earnestly: “Surely we must consider an immediate evacuation plan. We cannot wait any longer. Each day that passes will multiply the difficulties later on. We must at least move out the women and children now—before it’s too late.”
Goebbels did not answer. There was a long silence. Outside it was growing dark. Suddenly he reached up, grabbed a cord by the window, and yanked it. The blackout curtains closed with a rattle. Goebbels turned. Club-footed from birth, he limped across to his desk, snapped on the light, looked at the watch lying on the blotting pad and then at Reymann. “My dear General,” he said mildly, “when and if an evacuation becomes necessary I will be the one to make the decision.” Then he snarled: “But I don’t intend to throw Berlin into panic by ordering it now! There’s plenty of time! Plenty of time!” He dismissed them. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
As Reymann and Refior left the building, they paused for a moment on the steps. General Reymann gazed out over the city. Although the sirens had not sounded, in the far distance searchlights had begun fingering the night sky. As Reymann slowly pulled on his gloves he said to Refior: “We are faced with a task that we cannot solve; that has no chance of success. I can only hope that some miracle happens to change our fortunes, or that the war ends before Berlin comes under siege.” He looked at his Chief of Staff. “Otherwise,” he added, “God help the Berliners.”
A short while later, at his command post on the Hohenzollerndamm, Reymann received a call from the OKH (Army High Command). Besides the Supreme Commander, Hitler and the Berlin Gauleiter, Goebbels, Reymann now learned that he was subordinated to yet another authority. Arrangements were being made, he was told, for the Berlin Defense Area to come eventually under the direction of the Army Group Vistula and its commander, Colonel General Gotthard Heinrici. Reymann felt the first stirrings of hope at reading Heinrici’s name. He directed Refior to brief the Army Group Vistula staff at the earliest opportunity. There was only one thing that worried him. He wondered how Heinrici would feel about taking Berlin under his wing while at the same time preparing to hold the Russians on the Oder. Reymann knew Heinrici well. He could imagine the Giftzwergs reaction when he heard the news.
“It’s absurd!” growled Heinrici. “Absurd!”
Army Group Vistula’s new Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Eberhard Kinzel, and its Operations Chief, Colonel Hans Eismann, looked at each other and remained silent. There was nothing to say. “Absurd” seemed an understatement. The proposal to attach the Berlin Defense Area to Heinrici’s hard-pressed command at this particular moment seemed impossible to both officers. Neither could see how Heinrici was supposed to direct or even oversee Reymann’s defense operations. Distance alone made the plan impractical; Vistula’s headquarters was more than fifty miles from Berlin. And it was clear that whoever had suggested the idea appeared to know very little about the staggering problems facing Heinrici.
Earlier in the evening, operations department officers of OKH (Army High Command) had carefully presented the Berlin defense proposal to Kinzel. The idea was put forth tentatively—almost as a suggestion. Now, as Heinrici paced his office, the mud of the front still on his old-fashioned leggings, he made it plain to his subordinates that so far as he was concerned the plan would remain just that—a suggestion. Army Group Vistula had one task: to stop the Russians on the Oder. “Unless I’m forced,” said Heinrici, “I do not intend to accept responsibility for Berlin.”
That did not mean he was unaware of the plight of the city’s people. Indeed, the fate of Berlin’s population of almost three million was often in Heinrici’s thoughts. He was haunted by the possibility of Berlin’s becoming a battlefield; he knew better than most what happened to civilians caught in the fury of artillery fire and street fighting. He believed that the Russians were merciless, and in the heat of battle he did not expect them to discriminate between soldiers and civilians. Nevertheless, at this moment it was unthinkable that he should be expected to take on the problem of Berlin and its civilian population. The Army Group Vistula was the sole barrier between Berlin and the Russians, and as always Heinrici’s main concern was with his soldiers. The crusty, belligerent Giftzwerg was furious at Hitler and the Chief of OKH, Guderian, for what seemed to him the deliberate sacrifice of his soldiers’ lives.
Turning to Kinzel, he said: “Get me Guderian.”
Since assuming command a week before, Heinrici had been constantly at the front. Tirelessly he had traveled from headquarters to headquarters, mapping out strategy with division commanders, visiting front-line troops in their dugouts and bunkers. He had quickly discovered that his suspicions were well founded: his forces were armies in name only. He was appalled to find that most units had been fattened with splinter troops and the remnants of once-proud divisions long since destroyed. Among his forces Heinrici even found non-German units. There were the “Nordland” and “Nederland” divisions composed of pro-Nazi Norwegian and Dutch volunteers, and a formation of former Russian prisoners of war under the leadership of the erstwhile defender of Kiev, a distinguished soldier named Lieutenant General Andrei A. Vlasov. After his surrender in 1942 he had been persuaded to organize a pro-German anti-Stalinist Russian army. Vlasov’s troops worried Heinrici : it seemed to him that they were likely to desert at the slightest opportunity. Some of Heinrici’s panzer forces were in good shape, and he was depending greatly on them. But the overall picture was bleak. Intelligence reports indicated that the Russians might have as many as three million men. Between Von Manteuffel’s Third Panzer Army in the north and Busse’s Ninth Army in the southern sector, Heinrici had a total of about four hundred eighty-two thousand, and there were almost no reserves.
Besides being desperately short of combat-tested troops, Heinrici was handicapped by acute shortages of equipment and supplies. He needed tanks, motorized guns, communications equipment, artillery, gasoline, ammunition, even rifles. So short were supplies that Colonel Eismann, the Operations officer, discovered that some replacements had arrived at the front with bazooka-like anti-tank weapons instead of rifles—and only one rocket-projectile apiece for the weapons.
“It’s madness!” Eismann told Heinrici. “How are these men supposed to fight after they fire their one round? What does OKH expect them to do—use their empty weapons like billy clubs? It’s mass murder.” Heinrici agreed. “OK
H expects the men to wait for what fate may bring them. I do not.” By every means in his power Heinrici was trying to rectify his equipment and supply situation, even though some commodities had all but disappeared.
His greatest lack was artillery. The Russians were beginning to construct bridges across the Oder and its marshy approaches. In some places the flood-swollen river was more than two miles wide. Special naval forces attached to Heinrici’s command had floated mines down the river to destroy the pontoons, but the Russians had promptly countered by erecting protective nets. Bombing the bridge construction from the air was out of the question. Luftwaffe officials had informed Heinrici that they had neither the aircraft nor the gasoline for the job. The most they could provide was single planes for reconnaissance missions. There was only one way left to stop the Russians’ feverish bridge building: artillery. And Heinrici had precious little of that.
To make up for this crippling shortage he had ordered anti-aircraft guns to be used as field pieces. Although it meant less protection from Russian air attacks, Heinrici reasoned that the guns would be used to better advantage in the field. And, indeed, the move had alleviated the situation. From the Stettin area alone, Von Manteuffel’s Third Panzer Army acquired 600 flak guns. Each had to be set in concrete; for they were too large and unwieldy to be mounted on vehicles, but they were helping to fill out the gaps. Yet, though they stood menacingly in place, they fired only when absolutely necessary. The lack of ammunition was so severe that Heinrici was determined to husband what little he had for the opening of the Red Army’s onslaught. Still, as he told his staff, “While we do not have enough guns or ammunition to stop the Russians’ building, at least we’re slowing them up.” Colonel Eismann viewed the situation more pessimistically. “The Army Group could be compared to a rabbit,” he later recalled, “watching spellbound a snake which wants to devour him. He can’t move a muscle, but waits for the moment when the snake will strike in a lightning-fast manner… . General Heinrici did not want to admit the fact that the Army Group could not take any more meaningful measures on the basis of its own strength.”
Yet in just one week of command, Heinrici had bulldozed his way through scores of seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Like the Heinrici of Moscow he had cajoled and goaded his troops, growled at and praised them in an effort to give them a fighting morale that would gain him time and help save their lives. Whatever his private feelings, to his officers and men he was the unintimidated, unbreakable Heinrici of legend. And true to character he was still fighting the “madness and bad judgment” of the higher command.
Right now his fiery temper was directed at Hitler and the Chief of OKH, Guderian. On March 23 General Busse’s Ninth Army had attacked twice in a desperate effort to break through to the isolated defenders of Küstrin, the city the Russians had encircled the day Heinrici had assumed command from Himmler. Heinrici had agreed to Busse’s tactics. He felt they offered the only chance to free the city before the Russians consolidated their positions. But the Russians were much too strong; both attacks proved disastrous.
Heinrici, reporting the outcome to Guderian, was told bluntly: “There must be another attack.” Hitler wanted it; so did Guderian. “It’s crazy,” Heinrici replied stiffly. “I would suggest that the panzer units in Küstrin receive orders to break out. It’s the only sensible thing left to do.” Guderian flared at the proposal. “The attack must be mounted,” he had shouted. On March 27 Busse had once again thrown his troops at Küstrin. So ferocious was the attack that some of his panzer forces actually did break through to the city. But then the Russians smashed the German drive with artillery fire. At staff headquarters, Heinrici minced no words. “The attack,” he said, “is a massacre. The Ninth Army has suffered incredible losses for absolutely nothing.”
Even now, the day after, his anger had not abated. As he waited for his call to Guderian, he paced his office muttering over and over the one word, “Fiasco!” Regardless of what might happen to him personally, when Guderian came on the phone Heinrici intended to charge his superior with the bloody massacre of eight thousand men—nearly a division had been lost in the Küstrin attack.
The phone rang and Kinzel answered. “It’s Zossen,” he told Heinrici.
The smooth voice of Lieutenant General Hans Krebs, OKH Chief of Staff, was not what Heinrici expected. “I meant to talk to Guderian,” he said. Krebs began speaking again. Heinrici’s face hardened as he listened. The staff officers watching him wondered what was happening. “When?” asked Heinrici. He listened again, then abruptly said, “Thank you,” and put down the phone. Turning to Kinzel and Eismann, Heinrici said quietly, “Guderian is no longer Chief of OKH. Hitler relieved him of command this afternoon.” To his astonished staff Heinrici added, “Krebs says that Guderian is sick, but that he doesn’t really know what happened.” Heinrici’s rage had completely evaporated. He made only one further observation. “It’s not like Guderian,” he said thoughtfully. “He didn’t even say good-bye.”
It was late that night before Heinrici’s staff was able to piece the story together. Guderian’s dismissal had followed one of the wildest scenes ever witnessed in the Reichskanzlei. Hitler’s midday conference had begun quietly enough but there were undertones of barely repressed hostility. Guderian had written the Führer a memorandum explaining why the Küstrin attack had failed. Hitler disliked not only the tone Guderian adopted but also Guderian’s defense of the Ninth Army and of General Busse in particular. The Führer had settled on Busse as the scapegoat and had ordered him to attend the meeting and make a full report.
As usual Hitler’s top military advisors were in attendance. In addition to Guderian and Busse there were Hitler’s Chief of Staff, Keitel; his Operations Chief, Jodl; the Führer’s adjutant, Burgdorf; several other senior officers and various aides. For several minutes Hitler listened to a general briefing on the current situation, then Busse was invited to give his report. He began by briefly outlining how the attack was launched and the forces that were employed. Hitler began to show annoyance. Suddenly he interrupted. “Why did the attack fail?” he yelled. Without pausing, he answered his own question. “Because of incompetence! Because of negligence!” He heaped abuse on Busse, Guderian and the entire High Command. They were all “incompetent.” The Küstrin attack was launched, he ranted, “without sufficient artillery preparation!” Then he turned on Guderian: “If Busse didn’t have enough ammunition as you claim—why didn’t you get him more?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Guderian began to speak quietly. “I have already explained to you …” Hitler, waving his arm, cut him off. “Explanations! Excuses! That’s all you give me!” he shouted. “Well! Then you tell me who let us down at Küstrin— the troops or Busse?” Guderian suddenly boiled. “Nonsense!” he spluttered. “This is nonsense!” He almost spat the words out. Furious, his face reddening, he launched into a tirade. “Busse is not to blame!” he bellowed. “I’ve told you that! He followed orders! Busse used all the ammunition that was available to him! All that he had!” Guderian’s anger was monumental. He struggled for words. “To say that the troops are to blame—look at the casualties!” he raged. “Look at the losses! The troops did their duty! Their self-sacrifice proves it!”
Hitler yelled back. “They failed!” he raged. “They failed.”
Guderian, his face purpling, roared at the top of his voice: “I must ask you … I must ask you not to level any further accusations at Busse or his troops!”
Both men were beyond reasonable discussion, but they did not stop. Facing each other, Guderian and Hitler engaged in such a furious and terrifying exchange that officers and aides stood frozen in shock. Hitler, lashing out at the General Staff, called them all “spineless,” “fools” and “fatheads.” He ranted that they had constantly “misled,” “misinformed” and “tricked” him. Guderian challenged the Führer on his use of the words “misinformed” and “misled.” Had General Gehlen in his intelligence estimate “misinformed” about
the strength of the Russians? “No!” roared Guderian. “Gehlen is a fool!” Hitler retorted. What of the surrounded eighteen divisions still in the Baltic States, in Courland? “Who,” barked Guderian, “has misled you about them? Exactly when,” he demanded of the Führer, “do you intend to evacuate the Courland army?”
So loud and violent was the encounter that afterward no one could remember exactly the sequence of the quarrel.* Even Busse, the innocent perpetrator of the argument, was unable to tell Heinrici later what had transpired in any detail. “We were almost paralyzed,” he said. “We couldn’t believe what was happening.”
Jodl was the first to snap into action. He grabbed the yelling Guderian by the arm. “Please! Please,” he implored, “calm down.” He pulled Guderian to one side. Keitel and Burgdorf began ministering to Hitler who had slumped, exhausted, into a chair. Guderian’s horrified aide, Major Freytag von Loringhoven, certain that his chief would be arrested if he did not get him immediately out of the room, ran outside and called Krebs, the Chief of Staff, at Zossen and told him what was happening. Von Loringhoven implored Krebs to speak to Guderian on the phone, on the pretense that there was urgent news from the front and to hold him in conversation until the General calmed down. With difficulty, Guderian was persuaded to leave the room. Krebs, a past master at the art of manipulating information to suit the occasion, had no trouble in claiming Guderian’s undivided attention for more than fifteen minutes—and by that time the Chief of the Army High Command was in control of his emotions again.