The impressive compound had weathered the war surprisingly well, which was probably the reason why the newly appointed city commandant General Sokolov had chosen it as his official residence. The main building stood proud amidst a park-like garden with an old tree population vested in lush greens.
Representative pillars lined the entrance to a three-story mansion made of gray stone that was the administrative headquarters, while smaller buildings in the back of the area hosted the barracked soldiers.
Even the majestic-looking long and small windows with bright white window frames had all the panes intact. Involuntarily, Werner held his breath, impressed by the dignity and beauty of this building.
General Sokolov was a stocky man with pitch-black hair and small brown eyes, who didn’t waste time with niceties. He wasn’t exactly good looking, though he had a commanding presence. Extremely confident and forceful like all the generals were, he too had clawed his way up ruthlessly to the top. Werner was almost blinded by the medals and ribbons that covered the front of the man’s uniform.
“Come and have a look,” Sokolov invited them into his office where a huge Berlin map lay on the table. The city was neatly divided into four occupation zones. The Soviet sector in the east of Berlin was slightly smaller than the three Western sectors together.
Werner wisely kept to the background but observed the general closely. He categorized him as the typical career officer with no patience for anyone with a different opinion, military and civilians alike. In that sense he was like all the others in the Red Army, but what separated him from the rest was the raw determination in his eyes. This man hadn’t come to Berlin to take prisoners. Still, he’d be easy enough to get along with — as long as things went according to his wishes, but no doubt he would chew out their asses should anything stray from the plan.
And there was no doubt that plans had been made already.
“In the past weeks we have taken control of the city,” General Sokolov said.
“And you have done this well,” Gentner answered.
Sokolov sent him a dark stare that clearly indicated he did not appreciate interruptions, not even when they were meant to bootlick.
Werner had difficulties containing the tiny smirk threatening to appear on the corner of his mouth. Apparently, Norbert hadn’t studied his new superior well enough. He caught himself at the thought and felt a tinge of remorse. It wasn’t the wisest course of action to feel superior to his boss. Norbert might not be the iconic superman everyone touted him as, but he still held Werner’s political fate in his hands. His best move would be to fully and completely side with his boss and back him up at every occasion.
Sokolov continued his illustration, tracing the map with a sharp pointer. “The police headquarters, the newspaper, the city hall, the municipal authority called Magistrat, and the university are all in our sector, as you can see. And this is no accident.”
Werner nodded. A well-thought-out plan.
“Furthermore, we control the surroundings of Berlin including railway routes, streets and waterways. We also have the sole functioning power station in our sector. If the Americans arrive in Berlin…”
He said if not when, Werner thought. Stalin had meticulously planned ahead for a time after Hitler’s downfall. Being the first ones to reach Berlin had been the key piece for all the others to fall in place. Swiftly installing communists in every position of the future city administration – which was the task of Gentner’s group – would ensure the Western imperialists wouldn’t get a foothold in the German capital.
It was a brilliant maneuver and once again Werner had to admit that the Great Old Man Stalin truly was a genius. He was a up to every trick and always one step ahead of the rest of the world. That was one reason why everyone loved, admired, but also feared him.
“…they are presented with a fait accompli and will soon realize the futility of wanting to govern a part of this city which is deep inside Soviet territory. Sooner, rather than later, they will gladly leave Berlin to us and go home.” Sokolov finished his speech and looked around, apparently inviting questions.
“What if the Americans don’t go home?” the designated Chief of Police, Paul Markgraf, asked. Markgraf, a German tank destroyer troops captain had been captured at Stalingrad. During his captivity he’d met Norbert who had sent him to a four-month anti-fascist training program in Krasnogorsk, where he joined the National Committee for a Free Germany. Markgraf had the reputation of being a ruthless man who didn’t shy away from unconventional methods to get what he wanted.
Werner didn’t trust the burly man with the brooding expression and the neatly side-parted black hair combed to perfection with brilliantine.
General Sokolov waved the question away like a nasty fly. “They will, because they are weak. They are war-tired and wish nothing more than to send their boys home and leave Europe for good. But we are here to stay. We will govern not only Berlin, but all of Germany and soon communism will reign from the Pacific in the East to the Atlantic in the West.”
Emboldened by Sokolov’s gracious response to Markgraf’s question, Werner asked, “What about the British and the French, they won’t leave Europe because it’s their home?”
“The French?” Sokolov scoffed. “A bunch of measly cowards who were overrun by the Wehrmacht in a matter of weeks. They never fought against the occupation and, frankly, it’s beyond me to understand how they convinced the Americans to consider them a victorious power. They have contributed nothing to win this war. The French will acquiesce to our ruling in the same way they capitulated to the Germans in 1940.”
Sokolov looked around the room, pleased with his assessment of Europe’s political affairs. “As for the British, they have shown some valor, that is not to be denied. But without the help from their American friends, Hitler would have invaded their petty little island years ago. They are no threat to us. They are as eager to leave the continent and retreat to their island as the Americans are eager to retreat across the ocean. As long as we assure the British that we have no interest in crossing the channel, they won’t oppose us.”
“Bravo!” Gentner clapped his hands and one by one the other men followed suit. This time General Sokolov was very pleased by the flattery and jovially invited them for a drink.
Chapter 2
Marlene carefully hid her long brown hair beneath the old and dusty cap, before she put on her only coat and said, “I’m going to look for something to eat.”
“Be careful. The Russians…” her mother said with a steep furrow between her brows.
“I know, but we can’t stay inside forever, or we will starve.” Marlene glanced at her father who slumped on the bed in the corner. He should be the one to go out and take care of his family instead of feeling sorry about the awful fate that had befallen them.
A wave of loathing hit her, but the next moment it washed over and left only pity for the broken man. Life had been hard on him. As a high-ranking government official, he had always provided for his family the best he could. They even lived in modest luxury – compared to most Berliners – until their building had endured structural damage during an air raid, and they’d had to relocate into the basement, along with the other surviving tenants.
It was understandable that her father felt weak and defeated. Because that’s what every German was – defeated.
Capitulation. Unconditional surrender. Of course, nobody called it that. Instead people used the euphemisms chaos or collapse, as if it were something unintentional like a building collapsing after a direct hit, and not the utter, complete, and humiliating surrender to every whim of the new powers that be.