fifteen-man crew of No. 1 Flak Division were behind their weapons at the division's duty station.
SS Private Patzer was one of fifteen guards on duty in the garden. Two SS patrols were responsible for the east and west sections. An additional guard, called the Hundführer, roamed the western portion near the blockhouse with a German shepherd.
The private was proud of his service in the Liebstandarte-SS Adolf Hitler. LSSAH soldiers took a personal oath of obedience to the Führer, and on that day two years ago when Private Patzer had taken his oath, Hitler had walked down the line of soldiers, shaking each hand and looking into each pair of eyes. When the Führer reached him, it was the greatest moment of Patzer's life. Patzer and other soldiers had sworn they could see a halo around Hitler's head. Although the Führer had not spoken to him that day or any day since, Patzer was as close to the German savior as he was to his mother. He loved the man. And knowing where Hitler was—in the Chancellery or the bunker or the garden— when few in Berlin had any idea, fed the familiarity. The guards referred to Hitler as Grofaz, short for Grassier Feldherr allerZeiten (the greatest general of all time), and even with the Soviet barbarians on the Oder and their American, Canadian, and British dupes marching into central Germany, there was not a trace of irony or mockery in the guards' voices when they used the nickname.
A guard at the blockhouse blew a bosun's whistle. Patzer's thoughts instantly returned to the garden. He quickly squared his helmet and his belt, and brought his Mauser in line in front of him. He cleared his throat, not that he would have occasion in the next few minutes to use his voice But, perhaps, someday.
The blockhouse guards jerked themselves to a rigid attention, a snap that would have broken most backbones. From the black doorway, emerging slowly, his figure congealing out of the darkness, walked the Führer. Beside him was Blondi, his white Alsatian. The dog leaped to the end of his leash, eager for the trees and bushes of the garden. Hitler let the animal lead him along the gravel path. The Führer was wearing a gray greatcoat, a scarf, black gloves, and a field-gray peaked cap.
He moved slowly, cautiously, as if testing each step. Patzer wanted to weep for the man. The private had seen Hitler walk up the long flight of steps to the podium at the 1938 Nuremberg SS rally. Now Hitler wobbled like a drunken sailor when walking, and lurched to the right with each step. He used his right hand to both grip the dog's leash and to hold his dead left arm close to his body. In better days Patzer had seen him guide Blondi over a two-meter wooden wall, then up a ladder where the dog would beg for a treat. Hitler kept the treats in his coat pocket. He shuffled along the gravel path In the darkness. Patzer could not see his face, only a small glint off the nickel-rimmed spectacles he always wore except when in front of cameras.
Blondi danced in a circle, almost pulling the Führer off his feet. At the fork in the path the dog pulled Hitler south toward Patzer's tower. The private could see Hitler's breath in the cold air.
Patzer removed his gaze from the man to stare precisely ahead, as ordered when the Führer passed. The private stiffly held his rifle at present arms.
Hitler's awkward footsteps sounded in the gravel, yet closer. Then they stopped. At tense attention, Patzer braved a look down the side of the tower.
The Führer's head was tilted back, and he was peering straight up the tower at Patzer. Even in the dim light Patzer could see the blue eyes. Astounded, the private swayed on his feet and let his mouth drop open. "It's cold up there," Hitler said. "Much too cold for April." Patzer tried to bark out his response as he had been trained Instead, his voice was tremulous. "Yes, my Führer."
"Your hands are wet and are going to get blue."
"Yes, my Führer." A little better. Almost the proper tone of
SS Private Patzer was one of fifteen guards on duty in the garden. Two SS patrols were responsible for the east and west sections. An additional guard, called the Hundführer, roamed the western portion near the blockhouse with a German shepherd.
The private was proud of his service in the Liebstandarte-SS Adolf Hitler. LSSAH soldiers took a personal oath of obedience to the Führer, and on that day two years ago when Private Patzer had taken his oath, Hitler had walked down the line of soldiers, shaking each hand and looking into each pair of eyes. When the Führer reached him, it was the greatest moment of Patzer's life. Patzer and other soldiers had sworn they could see a halo around Hitler's head. Although the Führer had not spoken to him that day or any day since, Patzer was as close to the German savior as he was to his mother. He loved the man. And knowing where Hitler was—in the Chancellery or the bunker or the garden— when few in Berlin had any idea, fed the familiarity. The guards referred to Hitler as Grofaz, short for Grassier Feldherr allerZeiten (the greatest general of all time), and even with the Soviet barbarians on the Oder and their American, Canadian, and British dupes marching into central Germany, there was not a trace of irony or mockery in the guards' voices when they used the nickname.
A guard at the blockhouse blew a bosun's whistle. Patzer's thoughts instantly returned to the garden. He quickly squared his helmet and his belt, and brought his Mauser in line in front of him. He cleared his throat, not that he would have occasion in the next few minutes to use his voice But, perhaps, someday.
The blockhouse guards jerked themselves to a rigid attention, a snap that would have broken most backbones. From the black doorway, emerging slowly, his figure congealing out of the darkness, walked the Führer. Beside him was Blondi, his white Alsatian. The dog leaped to the end of his leash, eager for the trees and bushes of the garden. Hitler let the animal lead him along the gravel path. The Führer was wearing a gray greatcoat, a scarf, black gloves, and a field-gray peaked cap.
He moved slowly, cautiously, as if testing each step. Patzer wanted to weep for the man. The private had seen Hitler walk up the long flight of steps to the podium at the 1938 Nuremberg SS rally. Now Hitler wobbled like a drunken sailor when walking, and lurched to the right with each step. He used his right hand to both grip the dog's leash and to hold his dead left arm close to his body. In better days Patzer had seen him guide Blondi over a two-meter wooden wall, then up a ladder where the dog would beg for a treat. Hitler kept the treats in his coat pocket. He shuffled along the gravel path In the darkness. Patzer could not see his face, only a small glint off the nickel-rimmed spectacles he always wore except when in front of cameras.
Blondi danced in a circle, almost pulling the Führer off his feet. At the fork in the path the dog pulled Hitler south toward Patzer's tower. The private could see Hitler's breath in the cold air.
Patzer removed his gaze from the man to stare precisely ahead, as ordered when the Führer passed. The private stiffly held his rifle at present arms.
Hitler's awkward footsteps sounded in the gravel, yet closer. Then they stopped. At tense attention, Patzer braved a look down the side of the tower.
The Führer's head was tilted back, and he was peering straight up the tower at Patzer. Even in the dim light Patzer could see the blue eyes. Astounded, the private swayed on his feet and let his mouth drop open. "It's cold up there," Hitler said. "Much too cold for April." Patzer tried to bark out his response as he had been trained Instead, his voice was tremulous. "Yes, my Führer."
"Your hands are wet and are going to get blue."
"Yes, my Führer." A little better. Almost the proper tone of
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