At precisely four in the morning, Adolf Hitler left his infamous bunker for the final time. Erich Kempka, his loyal driver since 1934, escorted the Führer to an unmarked Mercedes, accompanied by his new bride Eva Braun and his private secretary, Martin Bormann. A few minutes earlier, Bormann had arranged for Hitler’s barber, August Wollenhaupt, to be smuggled into the bunker with the express task of removing the Führer’s trademark moustache. Hitler’s fear of falling into the hands of the Red Army marginally outweighed his vanity and, at the last minute, he reluctantly agreed to Bormann’s request.
Wollenhaupt cursed under his breath as he waited nervously in the corridor outside Hitler’s study. He could feel his hands violently shaking; they were armed with a top grade cut-throat razor and a pair of black-handled stainless-steel scissors. He had been Hitler’s barber since 1932, but this was by far the most bizarre visit he had ever made to attend to the Führer’s needs. He clearly recognised the huge implications of what he had been requested to do. His mind was buzzing with questions when he suddenly caught sight of Bormann emerging at the end of the corridor, and, as he approached, he managed a half-hearted salute.
“Obergruppenführer, are you sure this is what the Führer wants?”
As soon as he uttered the words, he instantly regretted opening his mouth.
Bormann’s reply was laced with contempt. “Old man, it’s part of my plan and, if you wish to see your family again, you will not question it, especially when you are with the Führer.” Bormann’s eyes momentarily flicked down to the implements in the barber’s hands. “I just hope you can keep your hands steady enough to do the job.”
A few seconds later the door creaked open and Hitler’s valet poked his head out of the doorway, checking to see who was outside. “The Führer is ready for you now, Herr Wollenhaupt.”
As the bemused barber walked forward, Bormann fired off a parting shot. “Old man, one last thing. This entire event never happened.”
It took less than two minutes for the barber to complete the task, but, even with his moustache removed, Hitler’s hypnotic steely-blue eyes and pronounced cheekbones still combined to make his face instantly recognisable.
The three fugitives were dressed discreetly in drab civilian attire, sourced by Hitler’s valet, Heinz Linge. Only the Führer made a further cursory attempt to disguise his infamous features, wearing a brown cashmere fedora with the brim turned down across his forehead.
Bormann had actually planned the escape to take place ten days earlier, on 20 April, to coincide with Hitler’s fifty-sixth birthday but, at the last minute, the Führer had changed his mind. The two men had become inseparable since first entering the bunker three months earlier and Bormann had no intention of them being captured by the Red Army. He would stay by his master’s side, come what may. Now, as the bunker shuddered from the impact of Russian bombs landing directly above, Hitler had finally agreed to leave.
Berlin was being bombarded from all sides and the Russians were less than a mile away from the Führer’s secret underground base. Stalin’s troops, led by Marshal Georgy Zhukov, were approaching the city from the north and Bormann, who had planned the escape route, had no real idea of the Red Army’s exact positions. In the immediate hours before they fled, he instructed his secretary, Else Krüger, to call random phone numbers of German civilians who lived on the northern outskirts. If a Russian voice answered, she knew the house and the street had been taken. It was a bizarre game of telephone roulette. Phones rang off the hook and, when they did occasionally answer, a German voice was never heard.
Despite the grim news from his secretary, Bormann knew they had no options left and the three most notorious figures in Nazi Germany began a hazardous five-hour drive through enemy lines, heading north-west towards the coastal city of Kiel. Their destination was the port which, throughout the war, had been one of the Nazis’ prominent naval bases on the Baltic coast. It housed enormous shipyards that had been used by the German Reich to build state-of-the-art submarines and, during the previous six months, had been subjected to constant aerial attacks from the Allied forces who appreciated its strategic importance. However, the Allies had been careful not to totally destroy the harbour, as they planned to use it as a naval base of their own, once they gained control of it, which was only a matter of days away.
Kempka was a skilled driver and, for the majority of the journey, maintained a steady speed. He kept to B roads, most of which were badly bomb damaged and deserted. Nevertheless, as they reached the outskirts of Kiel he knew he had no choice but to switch to the main road, as it was the only way to gain entry to the port. It involved a precarious end to the journey and for a few minutes all was well but, as they entered the city suburbs, he spotted an impromptu roadblock a few hundred yards ahead. Two Russian soldiers were positioned in the middle of the road, standing in front of an armoured half-track vehicle that was parked sideways on, forming a temporary barricade. They had spotted the approaching car a few seconds earlier and their PPD-34 submachine guns were raised and pointed directly at it. A third soldier was sleeping on a makeshift bed of fallen logs by the side of the road. His gun lay a few feet away, resting by an empty bottle of Stolichnaya vodka.
Kempka immediately began to slow the Mercedes 770K and turned to Bormann, who was sitting alongside him in the front passenger seat. It was the first time he’d spoken on the journey. “Obergruppenführer, what are your instructions?”
Bormann reached inside his overcoat and retrieved his 6.5 calibre Mauser pistol. “Erich, drive slowly up to the guards and keep your best fake smile on show. Try and park alongside them.”
Bormann glanced over his left shoulder to make eye contact with Hitler, who nodded to acknowledge that he had heard the conversation and was aware of the imminent threat. As the car drew to a halt, Bormann and Kempka maintained their beaming smiles while the wary guards approached the front passenger door. The senior guard lowered his machine gun and barked instructions to the inhabitants of the car in Russian.
“Get out! Get out of the car.”
Bormann continued smiling and nodded his head repeatedly as he began slowly winding down the car window with his right hand. Without pausing, he raised his left hand and fired in one simultaneous movement. The round entered the guard’s neck just above his Adam’s apple and, as he slumped to the ground, Bormann fired another shot that struck the second guard directly between the eyes, creating a mini crater in the centre of his forehead. The gunshots had woken the sleeping soldier, who instinctively leapt across the logs in pursuit of his machine gun. As he reached it, two more shots rang out and he spun backwards as the rounds ripped open his chest. He rolled sideways into a shallow ditch and came to rest on his back. Blood seeped through his uniform as he struggled to breathe. The shadow of his attacker loomed over him.
Adolf Hitler raised his left hand and slowly removed the fedora from his head to reveal his features. His right hand held his favourite weapon, a 7.65 millimetre Walther PPK. He glared at the fallen guard, desperately wanting the dying man to know the identity of his killer. The Russian somehow managed to tilt his head upwards and stared back incredulously, focusing his bloodshot eyes on the face of the gunman. Hitler’s words dripped with venom.
“You are part of Stalin’s scum army and, like all your countrymen, deserve to die a painful death for invading my country.”
Hitler crouched down and leaned forward until he was only inches away from his victim’s head. He launched a mouthful of phlegm onto his face and, moments later, fired a third shot that blew away most of the soldier’s skull.
It took Kempka almost fifteen minutes to figure out the intricate workings of the armoured car’s manual gearbox but, eventually, he managed to drive it to the side of the road. Half an hour later, the Mercedes entered the war-torn seaport of Kiel. Awaiting them in the harbour, squeezed between the U-boats and warships, was a small, unimposing cargo boat that Bormann had purchased for five hundred thousand dollars six months earlier. Santa Cruz III had been built in South America and was registered in the port of Río Gallegos on the south-east coast of Argentina. Its twelve-man crew had been paid handsomely to bring it across the Atlantic to moor up in the harbour where, for the previous few months, it had been hidden from sight in one of the huge submarine bunkers. At just over nineteen hundred tons, it was powered by two diesel engines that generated a top speed of ten knots.
A fortnight earlier, Bormann had put in place the final piece of his intricate escape plan. He had instructed one of the navy’s highest-ranking captains to travel to Kiel to take the helm of the pitiful cargo boat. A top-secret assignment that had left Hans Küpper completely bemused. Küpper was one of the German Navy’s most decorated officers and, more importantly, he spoke fluent Spanish: the reason Bormann had selected him for the task. Küpper was to take command of the Santa Cruz III and its South American crew.
In addition to Hitler, Braun and Bormann, there was a fourth passenger.He had arrived separately and was smuggled on board a couple of hours before the three VIPs arrived.
Küpper was summoned to meet the illustrious trio inside one of the base’s vast storage structures, especially built to house giant submarines while they were under repair. When he entered the small administrative office inside the bunker, he was astounded to discover the identity of his three passengers. Hitler and Braun were sitting against one of the walls on small metal office chairs while Bormann sat behind an improvised desk, making notes. Küpper had never seen any of them before in the flesh and felt like an extra on a movie set about to meet the lead actors. He immediately stopped and saluted the Führer and held his position just inside the doorway.
Bormann laid down his pen and looked up at the captain. “Küpper, the Führer will require your quarters for the duration of the voyage. Myself and his wife will be berthed close by. I have already arranged for certain food provisions to be stored on the ship and I will give you a breakdown of the meals that should be prepared for the Führer. There is another passenger who will need to requisition the medical cabin as well as a separate one to sleep in. He is a physician and his medical supplies are being brought on board right now. Do you have any questions?”
Küpper was clearly confused and uneasy about the whole operation but wise enough not to question Bormann. “Obergruppenführer, I understand and will action your requests immediately. However, there are some embarrassing problems I need to bring to your attention. Lack of hygiene on board may be an issue. The cabins are damp, poorly ventilated and have no running water or heating. The wooden bunk in my cabin has a makeshift mattress, which is nothing more than a cloth bag stuffed full of straw. There are only two toilets which are shared by the crew of twelve. One of them is situated next to my cabin so, of course, I will requisition it for the Führer but I’m afraid the interior of the boat is in poor condition and in my opinion not fit for purpose.”
Bormann’s eyes fixed firmly on the captain. He cursed under his breath as he reflected on his negotiation with the boat’s owner, who had assured him Santa Cruz III was in pristine condition and a bargain at half a million dollars. He was normally meticulous when it came to detail but, on this occasion, had been forced to take the man at his word. A rare mistake that he had every intention of rectifying once he was safely ensconced in his new base.
“Captain, the boat is perfect for our requirements and you will find charts on board detailing our journey to South America.”
Küpper was completely stunned but didn’t reply. Dozens of questions came to mind but he knew to stay silent, so simply nodded.
Hitler and Braun sat listening impassively. Bormann was now evidently bored with the conversation and keen to continue with his paperwork. “Captain, I expect you and the crew to make the voyage as comfortable as possible for the Führer. We will be boarding in two hours.”
With that, Bormann returned to his notes and Küpper realised the meeting was over.