Chapter 19

Obersalzberg, April 1945

 

 

We left Reinicke’s place in Berchtesgaden, backtracking toward Salzburg and then turning right at the cutoff to the Obersalzberg. We chugged up the grade in Ralph’s three-wheeler straight to the officer’s mess. He told us not to worry; we were with him. He explained how he made this trip with two of Bormann’s slave laborers at least twice a week. Strangely enough, we felt comfortable. I did anyway.

If the scenery had been spectacular before, now it was breath-taking. But we had no time for sightseeing or for discussing what was supposed to happen tomorrow. He told us we should probably have stayed in the basement of the Imperial tonight; but then he couldn’t be sure of getting into the city and back in time tomorrow. This way, we had time to spare.

Eric and I carried the boxes of spirits inside, placing them in a room adjacent the bar. Ralph leaned heavily on his cane as he loudly gave us orders in German. When the truck was unloaded, the three of us parked it in a nearby garage and then walked back to the officers’ mess. We goofed around with the boxes in the back room, while Ralph played with his clipboard, making as though he was conducting yet another inventory. When he was sure the coast was clear, we sat on a bench, and for the first time, we listened to what he thought was going to happen tomorrow night.

He said we were to stay here tonight, and through tomorrow afternoon. Then we would start loading the gold. We made a kind of children’s playroom by moving the boxes around. It was large enough to sit in and lie down, but not large enough to stand up. He apologized for the accommodations. But as he said, it was only going to be for a short time. He said not to worry about food. He said he would make sure we had all we wanted. He said there was going to be a banquet tonight, first a ceremony, and then a banquet to honor the Fuhrer, who had now declared his intentions to stay in Berlin until his death.

Ralph said: “Hitler has sent the Commandant a radio message, saying: ‘I cannot thereby lead if I sit somewhere on a mountain. I did not come to the World merely to defend only my Berghof.’”

But Ralph doesn’t expect the doings to be a somber affair. The War is not ending for them with Hitler’s death. They intend carrying on from South America. They are confident their Fuhrer wouldn’t leave them alone at the mercy of his enemies. The Wermacht maybe, but not the SS. They are sure their leaders have made long-range plans, which includes the necessary financing.

About two hours after dark, we heard the makings of a good party. There was loud laughter and an occasional outburst of voices having a good time, in spite of what was facing them. We took bets on whether they were or not. If they were, they were unlike any group of soldiers we knew. But then, too, they were famous for being just that. They were seen as a breed apart, even by our own generals and fighting men.

At one point they began singing a rousing hymn, keeping time by stomping their feet. It was an SS battle song we had never heard before. It made us both break out in goose bumps. I have since learned it was the Horst Wessel Lied, composed in honor of the first SA soldier to die in furtherance of the cause of National Socialism. So stirring is it that to this day it’s banned throughout Germany. To play it or to sing it is an offense punishable by a stiff fine. The younger generation knows little about it; and that’s just the way their elders, and especially the veterans of the Wermacht, want it to be.