Daybreak…
Berlin
The Soviet Ambassador in Berlin, Wladimir Dekanosow, had been attempting to contact the German Foreign Minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop, without success. Valentin Bereschkow, his First Secretary and interpreter, recalled: ‘It appeared that the Reich’s Foreign Minister was not in Berlin, but was at the Führer’s headquarters.’ Dekanosow, irritated, had been denied access. He was still unable to protest against the German border overflights.
In the German Foreign Office, Erich Sommer, a Russian-speaking interpreter, was informed by his legation head, Herr Strack, to call Bereschkow at the Soviet Embassy. Ribbentrop would see the Russian Ambassador now. Sommer and Strack drove off to the Russian Embassy to escort the Soviet delegation back. Before they left, Strack informed Sommer that war was to be declared against the Soviet Union, ‘but it had yet to be done’. As the official car drove along the Wilhelmstrasse on the return journey, the sun was only just beginning to rise. The occupants were preoccupied with their thoughts over the coming interview. Dekanosow felt at last he may be able to deliver his long-overdue protest. Sommer recalled his ironic remarks as the car glided past familiar Berlin landmarks. ‘It promises to be a beautiful day,’ the Soviet Ambassador said.(1)
Josef Goebbels, the Reich’s Propaganda Minister, was anticipating the forthcoming radio proclamation and press conference. ‘Radio, press and newsreel are mobilised,’ he wrote in his diary: ‘Everything runs like clockwork.’(2) Telephones had been ringing since 03.00 hours summoning the press. ‘What is it this time?’ many asked. Had the British decided to give up? Was the victorious Wehrmacht announcing a new objective? Cars sped through the dew-covered Tiergarten (zoo) towards the press conference room. It seemed it would be yet another hot stifling day.
Dekanosow and Bereschkow were led in at 04.00 hours to see Foreign Minister Ribbentrop. Erich Sommer, present as interpreter, witnessed all that transpired. The Foreign Minister was leaning lightly on his desk. Dekanosow attempted to raise the issue of certain ‘infringements’ affecting both nations but Ribbentrop did not take the matter up. Instead he indicated to his envoy Schmidt who began to read a memorandum ‘in which,’ Sommer said, ‘the Soviet Union was accused of systematically dismantling German-Soviet co-operation’. As Bereschkow and Sommer were about to interject to translate, the Soviet Ambassador stopped them. For nearly half an hour Schmidt continued reading, itemising Soviet border infringements both in the air and on the ground. The Memorandum continued:
‘Unfortunately, because of these unfriendly and provocative actions on the part of the Soviet Union, the German Government is obliged to meet the threat with all available military means.’
Sommer observed that, significantly, ‘the Memorandum did not end with a declaration of war. Hitler had expressly directed that the words “declaration of war” were not to appear in the text.’(3)
Bereschkow could hardly believe what he heard. The Soviet Union was allegedly threatening Germany. In fact a Soviet attack was pending. Hitler had to protect the German people. Therefore, already – two hours before – German troops had crossed the border.
Ribbentrop stood up and offered the Soviet envoy his hand. ‘The Ambassador,’ Bereschkow said, ‘was very nervous, and I think even a little drunk.’ Dekanosow, not surprisingly, ignored the gesture. ‘He declared that the German invasion was an aggression and the German Reich would soon very much regret launching this attack.’ Sommer saw the Soviet Ambassador ‘go red as a lobster and clench his fists’. He repeatedly said: ‘I regret this so much.’
As Bereschkow followed his ambassador from the room, Ribbentrop unexpectedly approached him and whispered close to his ear that ‘he was against this war. He still wanted to convince Hitler not to begin a war which he himself viewed as a catastrophe for Germany.’ Bereschkow was unmoved. He was damning in his interpretation of these events after the war, declaring: ‘in fact, there was no actual diplomatic declaration of war’. ‘Stalin strove,’ he believed, ‘right up to the last moment, to avoid the war.’ Diplomatic norms had been perverted, in his view, to maximise the military impact of surprise. He stated during interviews:
‘We had not evacuated any Soviet citizens from Germany. Even family dependents and children were still there. All German families had been evacuated from Moscow before 21 June, with the exception of some embassy staff. There were still about one hundred German diplomats in Moscow at the outbreak of war, whereas in Germany something like a thousand remained. It is absolutely clear that when someone initiates an attack, first of all, he evacuates his people. That was not the case with us.’(4)
Shortly after the painful interview, at 05.30 hours Ribbentrop announced to the world’s press that the war was already two hours old. Only 21 months previously he had returned from Moscow with his greatest diplomatic triumph: the German-Soviet Treaty of Friendship.
Meanwhile Liszt’s Les Préludes sounded as a fanfare across countless wireless sets in the Reich. ‘The High Command of the Wehrmacht announced the news of the invasion of Russia to the German people,’ Goebbels grandly wrote in his diary:
‘The new fanfare sounds. Filled with power, booming and majestic. I read the Führer’s proclamation to the German people over all stations. A solemn moment for me.’
Afterwards he drove home to his Schwanenwerder lake residence in Berlin. ‘The burden of many weeks and months falls away,’ he wrote: ‘A glorious wonderful hour has struck, when a new empire is born. Our nation is making her way up into the light.’ Goebbels had every reason to feel pleased with himself. A diplomatic and military triumph was now in the offing. Surprise for this new campaign had most certainly been achieved. At Schwanenwerder the sun was now up ‘standing full and beautiful in the sky’; he allowed himself ‘two hours of deep, healing sleep’.(5)
By the time he awoke, on the new Ostfront, artillery NCO Helmut Pabst was already feeling a hard-bitten veteran. He wrote in his diary on 22 June:
‘The advance went on. We moved fast, sometimes flat on the ground, but irresistibly. Ditches, water, sand, sun. Always changing position. Thirsty. No time to eat. By ten o’clock we were already old soldiers and had seen a great deaclass="underline" abandoned positions, knocked out armoured cars, the first prisoners, the first dead Russians.’(5)
Josef Deck with Artillery Regiment 71 near Brest-Litovsk vividly remembers a Feldwebel talking in subdued tones on the way to their final firing positions. This NCO did not share the Reich Propaganda Minister’s optimism. His view was that:
‘A war was beginning in the East before that in the West appeared won. Moreover it had occurred to him that Germany had already once before come to grief in a two-front war.’(6)
Chapter 5
The longest day of the year
‘After the first shock, the enemy has turned to fight.’
The first Soviet pocket is formed – Brest-Litovsk
Georgij Karbuk had listened to the pleasant melodies of an orchestra in Brest-Litovsk the night before. As dawn broke on 22 June he was rudely awakened by his father. ‘Get up,’ he declared, ‘it’s war!’ Karbuk was immediately aware of the sounds of battle. ‘It was not a case of hearing single shots,’ he remembered, ‘it was a whole barrage. The artillery firing on the fortress.’ Out in the street soldiers were running. ‘What’s up?’ the Karbuks asked. They said: ‘Can’t you see?, It’s war!’(1)