German Civil War – Race to Berlin (4)

September 2, 1939 — Wewelsburg Castle, SS Training Center, Westphalia, 11th Military District

The Renaissance fortress that Heinrich Himmler had purchased to forge his SS into a mystical Aryan order now echoed with gunfire.

General Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb pressed the assault without mercy.

"Kill the traitorous SS bastards!"

"The rebels are framing us!" an SS officer screamed back. "The Führer will never forgive you!"

To the conservative generals of the new government, the black-uniformed SS were no longer German soldiers—merely enemies in German uniforms.

"Hitler is dead!" a rebel shouted.

"Lies! The Führer lives!"

Artillery shells pounded the castle's ancient walls, reducing centuries-old stonework to rubble. From his makeshift command post, SS-Gruppenführer Paul Hausser watched his young trainees fall with each barrage.

He gripped the field telephone desperately. "We cannot hold much longer! This is a training facility, not a fortress. My boys are dying—most are barely out of school!"

[Reinforcements are impossible,] came General Franz Halder's voice from Berlin. [All available units are protecting the capital. But Reichsmarschall Göring promises air supply. Hold your position.]

"Air supply?" Hausser's voice cracked with disbelief. "Into a besieged castle with no airfield?"

[Göring guarantees success. Maintain your defense.]

The line went dead. Hausser set down the receiver and looked at the frightened faces around him—boys who had joined the SS for smart uniforms and martial glory, now trapped in a nightmare not of their making.

"They're sending supplies by air," he said quietly. "Hold fast."

Hope flickered in their eyes, but Hausser stared at the empty sky with growing dread. How could transport planes land supplies in a medieval courtyard surrounded by enemy artillery?

"These kids shouldn't have to die for the leadership's sins," he muttered.

September 2, 1939 — Army Group South HQ, Breslau, 8th Military District

[Herr Generalfeldmarschall!] The radio crackled with panic. [The SS Adolf Hitler Panzer Regiment has abandoned XIII Corps and is marching to Berlin!]

Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt buried his face in his hands. "General Viets can't even control his own units."

He had tried to ignore Berlin's orders to suppress the rebels, claiming it was "an SS matter." But General Walter von Reichenau's 10th Army—packed with Nazi loyalists—had already raced toward the capital, while SS regiments throughout Army Group South were abandoning their posts and creating chaos.

The SS Germania Motorized Regiment had left General List's 14th Army; the Adolf Hitler regiment had deserted General Blaskowitz's 8th Army. Discipline was collapsing.

"General," suggested General Erich von Manstein, his chief of staff, "perhaps we should move westward first."

"To fight them?" Rundstedt's voice was bitter.

Unlike the historical Valkyrie Plot—where conspirators struck while the Wehrmacht bled on distant battlefields—this coup aimed to prevent German bloodshed. Many officers felt sympathy, not outrage.

"Not to fight," Manstein said carefully, "but ignoring Berlin's orders could brand us traitors. We should advance slowly—westward. If we simply wait here, more units may desert."

"Hmm. Very well. Move 8th Army toward Dresden, 14th Army into Bohemia-Moravia."

"A wise decision, General."

Manstein's response was measured, but his mind raced. As long as he remained Chief of Staff to Army Group South, he avoided immediate charges of treason. Yet the moment of decision was approaching.

Moving west appeared to threaten the new government—but also positioned them to join the rebels if fortune shifted. His own Sichelschnitt plan had already given the coup forces their initial success; now he must decide whether to openly support Beck's cause or maintain his precarious neutrality.

The game was far from over.

September 3, 1939 — Berlin

Two days after the Chancellery attack, Germany's capital remained in chaos. Citizens already understood why the "rebels"—as Nazi propaganda labeled them—had launched their coup.

Despite police patrols, copies of the Frankfurter Zeitung littered Berlin's streets. The newspapers contained not only exposés of the Gleiwitz deception but also—printed in bold type—the frequencies of resistance radio stations.

The Nazis had banned those frequencies, of course, but they could hardly smash every radio in Germany. More critically, Dr. Joseph Goebbels and his propaganda ministry had never imagined that rebels would turn their own weapon—mass media—against them.

In alleyways and squares, shadowy figures continued distributing forbidden newspapers despite the risk of arrest. With most troops deployed to the Polish frontier and Himmler's forces scattered westward, Berlin's security had dangerous gaps.

One policeman, chasing a fleeing distributor, stopped to examine a discarded paper. His face went white.

The front page showed photographs that would haunt Germany: mass graves, skeletal prisoners, and furnishings made from human skin. The Buchenwald revelations had reached the capital.

At the radio station, Dr. Goebbels prepared for his noon address to the nation. The Führer, though unconscious, was stable. The rebels who had dared assault Germany's savior would pay dearly.

"Five minutes, Doctor."

Goebbels took his seat at the microphone, confident he could reshape public opinion. "You dare challenge us in propaganda? You know nothing of the art."

He never began broadcasting.

"Doctor!" An SS aide burst in, thrusting a newspaper at him.

Goebbels scanned the pages—mass graves, torture chambers, human skin lampshades—and rose from his chair, face ashen.

His scheduled address was postponed indefinitely.

September 3, 1939 — Radio Station, Frankfurt, Kassel, 9th Military District

I awoke slowly on what I had thought was a couch. Something soft cushioned my head.

"Awake at last?" Claudia Jung smiled down at me.

"Good morning, Claudia."

"Good morning, Dietrich."

She laughed at my automatic response. Originally the Abwehr had planned to smuggle her abroad after Ribbentrop's assassination, but I had objected—too many anti-Nazi activists were captured while fleeing, not while hiding.

Instead, I had used my military salary and my father's support to purchase a Frankfurt mansion where she could hide in plain sight. A wanted fugitive living openly in a major city? The idea was too audacious for Nazi hunters to consider.

The gambit had worked. She was safe—and we could remain together.

"Come now, get up," Claudia said, lifting my head gently. "People are watching, and it's past lunch."

Laughter rippled through the room. I had been sleeping with my head in her lap—in front of everyone! Heat flooded my cheeks.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I must have dozed off from exhaustion."

Editor-in-Chief Theodor Haubach, now relocated from Berlin, watched me with knowing eyes. I looked away, embarrassed.

"You've been working hard, Captain Schacht," he said kindly. "Goebbels has cancelled his speech—our work is succeeding."

Relief washed over me. Zealous Zeitung employees remaining in Nazi territory continued distributing our newspapers at enormous personal risk. Their courage was paying dividends.

"Thanks to Count Blumenthal's attack, the Nazis are in chaos," I said. "Let's maintain pressure."

Though Nazi radio claimed Hitler was recovering, his complete absence from public view suggested otherwise. Our leadership believed he was either dead or dying—exactly what we had hoped.

Meanwhile General Oswald Lutz's panzers raced toward Berlin against minimal resistance, while Generals Witzleben and Hammerstein secured Bavaria almost unopposed.

This euphoric atmosphere had killed my earlier arguments for political moderation. Why compromise when total victory seemed within reach?

"Live broadcast in one hour," a technician announced.

I looked at the healthier Buchenwald survivors who had volunteered to speak. Hardline royalists like Dr. Goerdeler might reject democratic principles, but we would proceed with our original plan.

To make them take us seriously, we had to prove our worth. Changing public opinion was our responsibility—not the generals' or the Kaiser's.

"Time to show these Nazis," I muttered, "that they're not the only ones who understand media warfare."