Killing Patton Part 16

Gen. Walther Wenck and his Twelfth Army will never save Berlin. The Soviet army is close by. Their advance units are just five hundred yards away from the Fhrerbunker, and they now sh.e.l.l the compound from their positions in the Tiergarten, the sprawling park in the heart of the city where Eva Braun once delighted in afternoons of target practice with her pistol. Many of the trees are now mere splinters. Yet those still standing bear the first blooms of spring-signs of life that contrast sharply with the nearby Reichstag building and Kroll Opera House, both battered and pocked by artillery.

Adolf Hitler has been talking of suicide for the last ten days, pragmatically stating that the only other option is to become a Russian prisoner-and for the Fhrer, that grisly fate is no option at all. Eva Braun, of course, would be a similar trophy if the Russians took her alive, so she, too, must die by her own hand. Earlier today she chose not to have a dentist examine a sore tooth, laughing that it soon wouldn't matter anyway. And she surprised Traudl Junge just a few hours ago by giving her a silver-fox fur coat. Eva's initials were sewn onto the lining, inside the well-known symbol of good luck: a four-leaf clover.

Hitler plans to kill himself with a cyanide pill. Until recently he was frightened that it would not work. So he ordered that a similar pill be tested on his beloved dog Blondi, the German shepherd who has been by his side for almost the entire war. Sgt. Fritz Tornow, the Fhrer's dog handler, pried open her jaws. Then Dr. Werner Haase, the professor who devised Hitler's own unique suicide technique, used a pair of pliers to place a pill of prussic acid3 in the dog's mouth.

Blondi is a large dog, originally chosen by the Fhrer as a symbol of German pride because she closely resembled a wolf. She trusts her master, and was docile as she allowed Haase to press the jaws of the pliers together, breaking the capsule and spilling the acid onto her tongue.

Blondi died instantly.

Dr. Haase immediately called for Hitler, so that he might see for himself the pill's effectiveness. The Fhrer was speechless at the sight of Blondi lying motionless on the floor. He took one look and went directly to his bedroom.

Now it's his turn.

After dismissing the staff, Hitler and Eva retire to his sitting room and close the door. Eva Braun sits down on one end of the blue-and-white couch in the corner, still wearing her black dress with roses framing the neckline. She rests her head on the couch's arm and curls her legs up under her, as if lying down to take a nap.

The solemnity of the moment is broken by a frantic banging on the room's steel door. A sobbing Magda Goebbels, wife of propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, demands to see the Fhrer and begs him not to end his life. Magda and her husband recently moved into the bunker's top floor with their six children. Only three days ago, Hitler gave her his own Golden Party Badge4 as a thank-you for her years of fervent support. Now Hitler allows Magda into his sitting room one last time, says a few quiet words of good-bye, then forces her to leave, closing the metal door behind her. He does not lock it, however, for the Fhrer has given strict instructions about what must be done with his body once he is gone. "Wait ten minutes," he orders SS major Otto Gnsche, his military adjutant.

Hitler has been carrying his Walther 7.65 mm pistol for the past few weeks, and now he chambers a round. History does not record the final words between him and Eva Braun. They have known each other for sixteen years. She has seen him rise to power, just as she more recently has witnessed his physical decline.

Eva is curled up like a cat on the right side of the sofa. Adolf Hitler takes a seat on the other end, pistol in hand. Eva's own revolver rests on a nearby table, next to a vase of flowers.

She goes first, sliding the cyanide pill out of the small bra.s.s lipstick-size vial and placing it between her teeth. She rests her head on the armrest and bites down on the capsule.

To prevent the possibility of failure, Eva is now meant to place her small handgun to her temple and finish the job. This is the policy outlined by the suicide professor Dr. Werner Haase. But Eva has already made it clear she will not shoot herself: "I want to be a beautiful corpse," she insisted to Hitler.

The bunker sitting room immediately smells of almonds, a scent commonly a.s.sociated with hydrocyanic acid. Eva Braun's body loses the ability to absorb oxygen. Her heart and brain, the two organs that need air the most, shut down in an instant. Sadly, it is a death far quicker than that suffered by the millions of Jews her new husband sent to the gas chambers. For the Zyklon B gas that was used in the death camps is also a form of hydrocyanic acid.

Seconds later, still curled in the fetal position, Eva Braun is dead.

The Fhrer then places his capsule between his teeth. At the same time, he points the business end of the Walther at his right temple. He bites down on the capsule and pulls the Walther's trigger a split second later.

His body sags to the side, until his torso hangs limp against Eva Braun's. The Fhrer's pistol drops to the floor next to his foot. Blood pours from his shattered skull, dripping off the couch and forming a great crimson puddle on the floor.

Ten minutes pa.s.s. Major Gnsche enters. The bodies are wrapped in blankets and taken aboveground. Hitler's dying fear was that his corpse might become an exhibit in a Russian museum, so the bodies are doused with forty gallons of gasoline and incinerated.5 Adolf Hitler, the man who murdered millions, has claimed his last victim.

22.

FLINT KASERNE.

BAD TLZ, BAVARIA, GERMANY.

MAY 25, 1945.

MIDDAY.

George Patton is smoking a cigar. He has once again been trying to kick the habit, but the boredom of his new job as military governor of Bavaria requires the distraction. With the fighting in Europe over, Patton now works alone in the commandant's office of this former SS officer training school thirty miles south of Munich. On this beautiful spring afternoon, he can see the Alps rising in the distance.

The magnificent Bavarian headquarters is just one of the perks Patton enjoys now that Germany has been defeated. Rather than sleep on an air mattress in the cramped mobile trailer he has called home for much of the last nine months, the general lives in a manor house built on the sh.o.r.es of a shimmering blue mountain lake. "This is the handsomest villa I have ever seen," he remarked in a letter to his brother-in-law Frederick Ayer just yesterday. Patton has a bowling alley, a swimming pool, and two boats at his disposal. "If one has to occupy Germany," he added, "this is a good place to do it from."

May in Bavaria should be an idyllic time for Patton, yet he is anxious, longing for just one more battle. The Third Army was still at full strength in May 1945, soon to begin the process of transitioning men and materiel back to the United States.1 Patton spends his days lobbying to fight in the Pacific. He is still "hopeful of having a chance to fight the j.a.panese," as he wrote in two letters to well-connected friends in Washington yesterday, knowing that they would pa.s.s along the word to others who might arrange such a posting. But a command in the Pacific is now unlikely. His monumental ego and that of the ma.s.sively self-important Pacific Theater commander Gen. Douglas MacArthur would surely clash.

Yet Patton is not one to avoid conflict. He is still fuming over an order from Dwight Eisenhower in the waning days of the war that prevented the Third Army from advancing into Czechoslovakia to a.s.sist the people of Prague. Instead of allowing Americans to come to their aid, by halting Patton's tanks Eisenhower made it possible for the Russian army to enter Prague. As in Berlin, the Russians did not come in peace, and were soon suppressing the locals in the same horrific manner.

Even weeks later, Patton still seethes about the absurdity of Eisenhower's order. He believes Ike to be a fool. Patton has been wary of Russian duplicity as far back as November 1943, when he noted in his diary that "It will be just as bad for us to have Russia win the war as it will be for Germany to do so. To be a success and maintain world peace, the U.S. and the U.S. alone should destroy Germany and j.a.pan and be ready to stop Russia."

Patton has met with Russian generals and officials several times since the war ended. Each time, they have plied him with alcohol, his Russian counterparts trying to get him drunk, hoping he would embarra.s.s himself. But Patton is onto the game, constantly adding water to his whisky, and drinking the Russians under the table.

The Red Army is relentless in its quest to control as much of Europe as possible, with Stalin taking full advantage of Dwight Eisenhower's timidity. The Russians are seizing more land, and more people are coming under their occupation.

Patton is incensed. "You cannot lay down with a diseased jackal," he recently insisted to a group of journalists. "Neither can we ever do business with the Russians."

When Undersecretary of War Robert Patterson visited the Third Army, Patton openly lobbied for at least 30 percent of all American troops to remain in Europe, "Keeping our forces intact. Let's keep our boots polished, bayonets sharpened, and present a picture of force and strength to these people. This is the only language they understand and respect. If you fail to do this, then I would like to say to you that we have had a victory over the Germans but have lost the war."

Even Patton's nemesis, British field marshal Montgomery, agrees: when accepting the surrender of German soldiers, he ordered his troops to stack the Wehrmacht rifles in such a way that they could easily be redistributed should the Germans and British need to defend themselves against a Russian advance.

Yet the Harvard-educated undersecretary Patterson thinks Patton is delusional. He advises Eisenhower, army chief of staff Gen. George C. Marshall, and President Harry Truman to continue to view the Russians benevolently.2 In time, of course, Patton's predictions will come true, and the world will have to live with the consequences of American gullibility.

The Soviet threat is not the only thing troubling Patton. He personally has undergone a series of strange near-death "coincidences." First there was the attempt a few weeks ago by the Spitfire to shoot down his airplane. The British had loaned many of those airplanes to the Polish air force, and it was originally believed that it was a Polish pilot who attacked Patton's L-5. But it turns out that the only Polish Spitfire wing in that part of Germany at the time was stationed far to the north, on the Baltic coast. The Spitfire has a combat range of 395 miles, making it impossible for the Polish fighters to make the round-trip flight from their base in Nordhorn to the location where Patton was fired upon, nearly three hundred miles south.

Records also show that no Polish aircraft went missing, and no Polish pilots were killed on the date of the attack-even though the Spitfire in question had Polish markings.

A Russian pilot, however, could have been the culprit.

Winston Churchill had been kind enough to give Joseph Stalin's air force one thousand Mark IX Spitfires to fight the n.a.z.is. The planes were everywhere over the skies of Germany.

Two weeks after the air attack, Patton was riding in the pa.s.senger seat of his open-air jeep when a German peasant's ox cart nearly smashed into his vehicle. A long pole tipped with a sharpened farming blade protruded from the front of the cart. "We were nearly killed," Patton wrote of his near decapitation in his journal. "The pole missed us by inches."

Army intelligence agents have warned Patton that his life may be in danger. NKVD, the Russian security force in charge of political a.s.sa.s.sinations and espionage, is thought to be tracking his movements.3 Whether it is the Russians or crazed n.a.z.i sympathizers who have visions of a.s.sa.s.sinating him, Patton is taking no chances. His security detail has been strengthened, and he now carries a loaded revolver with him at all times.

As night approaches, Patton takes a break from writing letters in his office near Bad Tlz as Gen. Hobart "Hap" Gay, Patton's longtime chief of staff, enters through the open door. "General," he says to Patton, "there's a Russian brigadier out in my office who says he has instructions to speak with you personally."

Patton removes the Montecristo Especial cigar from the corner of his mouth. "What the h.e.l.l does the son of a b.i.t.c.h want?"

"It's about river craft on the Danube," Gay replies vaguely.

"Bring the b.a.s.t.a.r.d in," Patton replies. "You and Harkins come with him."

Patton depends greatly on the wisdom of both Gay and Col. Paul Harkins, who have been at his side for years. In fact, it was Harkins who six months ago at Verdun nodded to Patton and confirmed that the Third Army was poised to quickly wheel north to save Bastogne.

The English-speaking Russian general enters Patton's office, followed closely by Gay and Harkins. The Russian snaps to attention as Patton rises.

What follows is a lengthy protest against the behavior of the American army. Many Germans fled the Russians by crossing the Danube River into what is now known as the "American Zone." Among them were boatmen who made their living ferrying people across the river. The Russians feel that these men and their boats rightfully belong to Mother Russia. "General Patton," the general concludes. "The Fourth Russian Guards Army demands that you, General Patton, return these craft to Russian control."

Patton does not immediately respond. He calmly places his Cuban cigar in an ashtray, slides opens his desk drawer, and removes his Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver.

Patton looks hard at the general. He then picks up the revolver and smashes it down hard on the desk. His face goes red. "Gay, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! Get this son of a b.i.t.c.h out of here. Who in the h.e.l.l let him in? Don't let any more Russian b.a.s.t.a.r.ds into this headquarters. Harkins! Alert the Fourth and Eleventh and Sixty-Fifth Divisions for an attack to the east."

The Russian general's face instantly goes pale. Terrified, he says nothing as Gay leads him from the room. Harkins, as ordered, picks up a telephone and gives the command to commence attacking the Russian lines.

The general hurries away from Patton's headquarters.

Gay and Harkins quickly return to Patton's office to report on the situation. They fear that Patton may have just started a new war.

But the general is all smiles. He reclines in his desk chair, once again puffing on his cigar. "How was that?" he asks with a grin.

Patton doesn't wait for an answer. "Sometimes you have to put on an act, and I'm not going to let any Russian marshal, general or private tell me what I have to do. Harkins, call off the alert.

"That's the last we'll hear from those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

But even George Patton knows that is not true.

On June 13, it is George S. Patton who is effectively silenced. He receives news that he has long dreaded: his combat career is over. Gen. Courtney Hodges's emotional meltdown and his ineffective leadership of the American First Army during the early days of the Battle of the Bulge have been forgotten. Gen. Douglas MacArthur has chosen Hodges instead of Patton to join him in the Pacific Theater for the fight against the j.a.panese army.

George Patton has fought his last battle.

23.

SCHLOSS CECILIENHOF.

POTSDAM, GERMANY.

JULY 24, 1945.

LATE AFTERNOON.

President Harry S. Truman wants a word with Joseph Stalin.

As diplomatic negotiations end for the afternoon, he maneuvers around to where Stalin sits. The two men, alongside British prime minister Winston Churchill, have spent the day discussing the postwar future of Germany. A small group of advisers from each nation is also seated at the ten-foot-wide circular table in this century-old palace just outside Berlin. The high-ceilinged room is stifling, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, and ten degrees too warm, thanks to the summer sun shining in through the unopened windows.

The Potsdam Conference, as it will be remembered, is the first time that the new Big Three are meeting since the death of Franklin Roosevelt. Joseph Stalin plays the role of ent.i.tled host, behaving as if Potsdam were now part of Russia. The tablecloth and chairs at the negotiating table are bright Russian red. Outside, in the gardens, the Russians have even planted bright red flowers in the shape of the Communist star.

As with the last meeting between Allied leaders, in Yalta, Stalin has every intention of steamrolling his guests into acceding to his demands. The ongoing American policy of accommodating the Soviets, rather than containing their growing power, plays right into his hands.

Churchill is bitter. Joseph Stalin has not only taken full control of Eastern Europe, but is widely viewed as a hero by the rest of the Continent. There is growing speculation that voters in France, Scandinavia, Italy, and even England will favor Communist candidates in their next elections. Indeed, even as Churchill watches Harry Truman casually rise from the table and then pull Stalin aside for a brief chat, the people of Britain are at the polls selecting a new government. Churchill will fly home tomorrow to hear that he is no longer prime minister.

Harry Truman does not have that kind of a problem. He's America's leader until at least 1948. He is a reluctant president, and considers the White House a "jail." But Truman is also moving quickly to put his own stamp on American politics by replacing FDR's cabinet and trusted advisers with men he considers loyal to him.

Truman possesses one presidential trait that Franklin Roosevelt lacked, and that is the poker player's ability to tell when another man is lying to him. FDR's administration was filled with men such as Wild Bill Donovan, who gained access to the president through flattery and self-promotion. Harry Truman has no time for panderers who put their own interests before those of the American people. When one of Roosevelt's most powerful advisers, Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau Jr., threatened to resign if he wasn't allowed to attend the Potsdam Conference, Truman immediately called his bluff.1 Morgenthau stepped down three days ago. His plan will not be implemented.

Truman is fiercely independent. In his lifetime, he has been a soldier, farmer, bank clerk, railroad worker, owner of a men's clothing store, judge, and senator. He once dreamed of being a concert pianist, and still makes time to play. He waited until he was thirty-five to get married, but his devotion to his wife, Bess, is such that he regularly writes her long letters whenever they are apart. Upon his arrival in Potsdam, the Secret Service overheard an army officer make the mistake of telling Truman he could "arrange anything you like while you're here-anything in the way of wine and women."

An appalled Truman chewed out the officer, telling him that "I married my sweetheart. She doesn't run around on me and I don't run around on her. And I want that understood. Don't ever mention that kind of stuff to me again."

This traditional American president who dotes on his wife now grabs the elbow of Joseph Stalin, a man whose infidelities and brutality drove his wife to suicide. The two world leaders stand apart from the other attendees at the Potsdam Conference, but remain near the negotiating table. For those who can't hear what the two men are saying, it would appear that they are simply making small talk. In fact, what Truman is about to tell Stalin will forever change the relationship between the United States and Russia. Truman, the smooth-talking "Missouri horse trader," is determined to send a clear message: America is the true power broker at this meeting.

The president looks dapper in his double-breasted suit and his bow tie. Stalin and the Russian contingent are all clad in drab Soviet military uniforms. The Russian dictator is a man just as comfortable with hiding his emotions as Truman.

Choosing to leave his own interpreter behind, Truman speaks directly to Stalin, letting the young Russian interpreter V. N. Pavlov translate his very important message.

Winston Churchill stands five feet away, next to his foreign minister, Anthony Eden. Both have already been told the news. They silently watch Stalin, to gauge his reaction.

Stalin is known to remain expressionless in negotiations, so as not to give away his true emotions, but Truman knows there is more than one way to bluff in a poker game. "After long experimentation," he tells Stalin in his typically direct way, "we have developed a new bomb far more destructive than any known bomb, and we plan to use it very soon unless j.a.pan surrenders."

Stalin's face is impa.s.sive, pretending not to comprehend the full weight of Truman's words. "I am glad to hear it," the Russian responds. "I hope you make good use of it against the j.a.panese."

The discussion over, the two engage in small talk for a few minutes before Truman makes his way back over to the U.S. delegation.

Churchill is flabbergasted by Stalin's lack of comprehension, and will later write, "If he had the slightest idea of the revolution in world affairs which was in progress his reactions would have been obvious. Nothing would have been easier than for him to say, 'Thank you so much for telling me about your new bomb. I of course have no technical knowledge. May I send my expert in these nuclear sciences to see your expert tomorrow morning?' But his face remained gay and genial, and the talk between these two potentates soon came to an end."

The British and Americans have been cooperating on the special bomb since 1939. Just eight days ago, in the vast desert of New Mexico, this new "atomic" weapon was successfully detonated. The explosion was equal to twenty kilotons of dynamite, and sent a bulbous cloud nearly eight miles into the sky. The sand beneath the blast was instantly turned into a layer of green gla.s.s ten feet deep, and the shock waves could be felt one hundred miles away. The man who directed the bomb-making project, a theoretical physicist named Robert Oppenheimer, made one simple remark to others who observed the explosion: "It worked."

Yet Oppenheimer also realized that this device brought an entirely new form of evil to mankind. "I am become Death," he thought to himself, "the destroyer of worlds."2 Truman had been waiting for confirmation of the blast results, and received them while on his way to Potsdam. The coded message detailing the bomb's success was handed to him upon his arrival: "Operated this morning. Diagnosis seems satisfactory, and already exceeds expectations," it read. With those words, Truman instantly has the power to a.s.sert American demands at the Potsdam Conference. No fighting force on earth possesses such a weapon, and he can threaten to use it on whoever stands in America's way. Here at Potsdam, Truman uses the bomb as leverage to gain a.s.surances that the Russians will join the war against the j.a.panese. The president also opposes Russian demands that the German people pay for the rebuilding of postwar Europe, with the bulk of those reparations going directly to the Soviet Union.

Yet Stalin is not afraid. Unbeknownst to Truman, he knows all about the atomic bomb, thanks to his extensive global intelligence network.3 He has deliberately prepared for this moment, determined not to give away any hint of emotion that will reveal the depth of Russian espionage in America.

It does not matter that America is an ally. The Russians spy on anyone who is a threat, considering no act of intrigue to be off limits. Stalin believes that "atomic bombs are meant to frighten those with weak nerves." Besides, his scientists are hard at work on an atomic bomb of their own. In four short years, the Russians will detonate a giant fireball.

Simply put, Joseph Stalin is determined to rule the world.

No American president, or American general, will stand in his way.

The outcome of the Potsdam Conference is harsh: in keeping with an earlier agreement at Yalta, Germany will be divided into occupation zones governed by the Allies. Truman also secures a firm commitment from Stalin to join the war against j.a.pan. But after meeting Stalin in person, Truman realizes that the dictator is not the friend to America that FDR believed him to be. Thus begins Truman's policy of taking a hard line against the Russians, and the start of the Cold War that George S. Patton has long predicted.

The sun shines brightly over Germany as George Patton stands at attention. The fingertips of his right hand are firmly pressed to his polished helmet in salute. Dwight Eisenhower stands to his right, also saluting the American flag as it is raised over Berlin for the first time. President Harry Truman stands to Patton's left with his hand over his heart. Next to him stands Gen. Omar Bradley.

Per a 1944 agreement between the Allies known as the London Protocol, Berlin is now the territory of the four occupying powers: the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and France. Each nation governs a portion of the city. Russia still controls the areas of Germany surrounding the city, making Berlin a rubble-filled island. "You who have not seen it," Patton said of the German capital, "do not know what h.e.l.l looks like."

General Eisenhower, General Patton, and President Truman at the Berlin flag-raising ceremony Patton was invited to Potsdam as a visitor to the conference, and from there traveled by car with the president and his fellow generals to Berlin for the flag raising ceremony. He has grown despondent in the past few months, undone by the fact that his fighting days are over. He plays squash and rides horses in the Bavarian countryside to keep himself in shape, and has even tried giving up cigars, but to no avail. By all outer appearances, he looks fit and healthy. But the reality is that he is bored, spending his days attending ceremonies, reviewing troops, saluting the flag, and pinning medals on those whose wartime commendations have finally come through. Without a war to fight, Patton is lost.