Postcards From Berlin

Introduction

Berlin. The last days of the Second World War. All Germans are bad, right? Wrong. Meet Tuomas Dressler, a fifteen year old boy forced to fight to the end in the Hitler Youth. A boy who has not been convinced by the rhetoric of the fanatics around him. A boy lost in the chaos that is defeat not knowing if his family is alive or dead. Lost, until the British take him and read the diary he has written at his peril.

Given the choice of fending for himself amongst the ruins of Berlin and facing the wrath of Russian soldiers out to kill, or helping the British identify Nazis – there really is no choice. He has no loyalty to Nazis, having heard about the horrors they have committed. Besides, he has high hopes of finding his parents and little sister – and maybe the Jewish neighbours who used to be friends.

This is a poignant story of a child forced too soon into the harsh realities of a failing world. Will he survive? Read Postcards From Berlin to find out.

Postcards From Berlin

CHAPTER 1

Today is the 27 April, 1945. I can feel death, he is waiting for me. I feel he has been waiting in the shadows ever since I joined Hitler’s youth movement. Every Aryan, my age and younger joined the Hitler Youth with their eyes wide open and their hearts beating proudly in their superior bodies.

National Socialism was a joy to behold, in the beginning. From despair came hope, and from hope was born hatred and death. I wear the uniform of the Nazi. I wear it with pride no more. It is a target for the rest of the world.

What I now write is what happened to me since the Red Army and the Allies invaded our capital. I write this as it happens. My day will come and the Red Army will bring it. They are not soldiers, they are devils sent here for revenge. I have forgotten how to smile and so have those around me. Berlin has lost much more than its people and buildings, it has lost its spirit. Empty people wander the streets, scrounging whatever they can, in the vain hope it will somehow prolong their wretched lives. They know what the Red Army brings, and it is not war. It is suffering, torture and death. Their propaganda speaks to us, in much the same way the Nazi propaganda spoke to us. I don’t know what to believe, my life has been based on lies. One day blurs into another. Eyes see ruined buildings and ruined people. Ears hear explosions, gunshots and screams. The relentless barrage of the avenging Reds draw close.

My time is now. I write down my thoughts and feelings in my journal, as they occur to me, using a pencil I can sharpen with my knife. I lost my pen long ago and there is no ink to be found anyway. I hope one day it is found and read by someone who does not think all Germans were barbaric Nationalists who lived a lie, with visions of world power and brutality oozing from every pore. We were good people once, and some of us still are. Those that survive may continue to be.

Time to write and time to fight, between street battles and the inevitable end.

Everything I now do must be written down as it happens. What happened must become known.

Surrender is impossible, the adult Nazi soldiers shoot anyone who tries to escape or speaks a word out of place. The Reds take no prisoners. They have bullets to shoot us, but no food or water for prisoners. The air is heavy with fear and filth. Excuse me if what you read seems rushed but I'm not Charles Dickens or William Shakespeare. This is no Mien Kampf either. That book was the ramblings of a deranged mind. I am not a good Nazi. Just a fifteen year old schoolboy in a Nazi uniform.

***

The entire city of Berlin is in ruins. We were all told by Mr Goebbel’s and the many other broadcasters that Germany was winning the War. If that were true then why are the Red Army and Allied troops so close? The Fuhrer has been lying to his people I fear, for a long time. This thought fills me with dread. If we have been lied to about this what else have our leaders lied to us about? My parents always told me not to trust the Nazis. Refer to them, always, as National Socialists, do not use the term Nazi.

I knew for certain that Hitler and his party had rescued the German economy from ruin and ended the depression that had started at the end of The Great War. Our teachers tried to brainwash us into believing Jews were responsible for all of Germany's troubles. At that tender age I did not know what to believe. Do you believe your parents when all around you tells you different? I was a child then. A lot has changed in those five years. I feel like an old man now, nearing the end of his life. After what I have seen and been through. Petrified people shot, mutilated bodies lying amongst the ruins, cowards and deserters hanging from lampposts. I feel guilt for ever wearing the Nazi uniform. I had friends who were Jewish, but they vanished. I did not even get the chance to say goodbye to them. I was not allowed to tell anyone this. My parents told me not to repeat anything they told me. They told me to do as I was told and obey orders. But to keep my heart and soul pure. At the time I did not understand what they meant. That was a lesson I learned the hard way. I cannot remember the faces of those I lived with. Do memories vanish with surroundings?

I joined the Hitler youth when I was ten years old, even though my Nazi way of life started when I was born. I was taught to fight like a soldier when I joined the Hitler Youth but I never expected to be in the frontline. Unfortunately there seems to be no one else left to fight, only old men, women and children.

Those who are left will not defeat the approaching enemy. They are relentless and unending. Bombs rain down on us. When the bombs stop falling the soldiers come, this is how we exist. Water and food will soon run out. I only eat because I’m a soldier. It is best to look straight ahead when you walk along. Look down and you see rats feasting on the dead. I fear one day I will see a rat eating my sister or my parents. I feel certain they are dead. How could anyone, outside of the fortress possibly survive?

I am living in an anti-aircraft fortress in the northern suburbs of the city. The walls are thick enough to be virtually bombproof. This building was built as a retreat in case our beloved capital was invaded. The Russians are steamrolling through the city now. I have heard they take no prisoners. Fifteen is no age to die.

***

Today was the first day I saw some action. We are vastly outnumbered so we fight until we drop. I was ordered to go into the heart of Berlin with my second hand Mauser 98 rifle, trusty Luger sidearm and Hitler Youth knife. I would hate to have to use a knife. The thought of killing someone with such a weapon is vile. When I received my orders I could barely function. The thought of fighting fills me with a rising terror. My right hand starts to tremble, then my heart begins to pound in my chest and I feel sick. I do not want to die and I do not want to kill anyone. I am just a boy. A rather large, strong boy, but a boy all the same.

There were nine of us in my squad. All the soldiers have been separated into small groups to try and defend as much of Berlin as possible. We were running through the rubble filled streets dodging through ruined buildings and debris to try and avoid being seen. It did not feel like the city I grew up in. The architecture was breath taking in places. Every street near my house had some sort of joyful memory attached to it. A memory of a time spent with my parents, listening to their stories and wisdom. Or time spent with my friends when we were all equal. You did not have to worry what you said or who you said it to.

These rubble filled streets are not my home anymore. They were another example of the Nazi legacy. Murder, deceit and ruin.

***

I felt sick, it was as much as I could do not to cry. The sight of my hometown in ruins was enough to dishearten me and drain whatever courage I had left. I could not afford to feel too much now. I had to act, not think. Killing was my business now, but it was not my chosen trade. My emotions seem to pour out of me as I write this all down. This notebook is my companion now. Something I can trust and tell everything to. Writing brings me relief. I pray each time I fill it in.

My squad and I had been running through the ruined streets towards the sound of gunfire for less than ten minutes when we happened upon some Russian soldiers. There were about twenty in all. None of them wore stripes. The nine of us immediately ran into a bombed out house, hoping we had not been seen. We all knew what to do. Our orders were to kill all enemy soldiers and we all knew we must obey our orders. Everyone had to be loyal to the Fuhrer and obey their orders, without question. We had all sworn an oath. It was actually happening, now. What I had been trained to do and what I had dreaded. The moment had now arrived. I hoped God was looking the other way. I was about to commit a mortal sin. The taking of another life. One thing struck me as I hid in the ruins; the smell. When a building is rubble it smells completely different. Strange what runs through your head at a time like this. I found myself trying to remember what this building once was. I had no idea.

***

Our commanding officer was one Gunter Kane. He was a fiercely loyal twenty five year old Nazi who strongly believed in the cause and seemed to know no fear. We were all hidden behind a semi collapsed wall when he spoke to us all.

They all must die. Every single one of these stinking communists who dare to invade the Fatherland and pollute it with their corruption and greed. Choose your targets carefully. This is not a drill. Aim for the chest. Once your target goes down, choose another target. I will shoot whichever one goes for the tank. You had better all hope that the tank is empty, he spat the words out as if he were firing at the enemy.

No one replied. Gunter did not like us answering back, or asking questions. There were two jeeps, German ones with the Russian flag crudely painted over a swastika and a tank, a T40, next to the collapsed wall the soldiers were sitting on. They were talking casually amongst themselves, smoking and laughing. I imagined their cigarettes to be filled with victory rather than tobacco. We all checked our weapons and chose targets. Choosing who to kill did not feel real. I was somewhere else, dreaming about my next actions. In just the same way we did in training when we were aiming at targets. I could hear their voices and could see them acting as if everything were fine. I was not even sure if I could pull the trigger. But I knew I would have to. I did not want to die. I was sure Gunter would kill me if I did not fire. My heart was pounding in my chest and I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Everything seemed to slow down as I waited for Gunter's command. My victim was just a uniform, not a person. For a few seconds I firmly believed that.

Ready, aim, fire! Gunter whispered.

We all fired simultaneously. My target fell forwards and his body hit the ground. I felt nothing as he fell, why would I? I did not really feel as if I had done anything. All I had done was squeeze the trigger of my second hand rifle. I was not close enough to see any blood or anything else. As soon as the eight bodies fell the other soldiers immediately leapt up and pulled their rifles from their shoulders as they moved to find cover. Most of them were too slow. We all fired again and this time only three got away, I guessed now that there had been nineteen soldiers, not twenty. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils. The sound the rifles made was only a sort of popping noise. Quite a weak sound really. It did not sound like something that could have killed someone.

ATTACK! KILL 'EM ALL! LEAVE NO MAN STANDING! Gunter screamed, laughing.

Gunter was the first to move. He drew his Luger as he moved forward, pointing it at a Russian soldier and shooting him in the back, laughing as he did so. His smile exposed his yellow teeth and brown tongue. He fired his pistol until the chamber was empty. He spat on the dead, he, he, it, spat on his victims. Gunter had lost whatever was left of his humanity. Laughing and spitting on corpses. He had lost his mind to National Socialism. His heart a swastika and his mind lost to the Fuhrer. The Reds were here for revenge and we knew they would slaughter rape and kill. I knew this not to be merely propaganda. I had heard it first hand from witnesses who had fled. They were shot by their own Generals for desertion. What sort of world was this? Not one I wanted to live in.

Disgusting Red scum. How dare you invade the Fatherland, how dare you attack our beloved Berlin? Gunter screamed.

He began to kick the soldier’s dead body, an unbelievable site. This man was responsible for his soldiers and he was kicking a dead body. What sort of example was this to set his men? His eyes were bulging out of their sockets and there was saliva dribbling down his chin. He looked like a man possessed. This was something he enjoyed. Kicking a corpse. The more he kicked the corpse the more savage he became. I failed to understand what could make an ordinary man so full of hate. All of our officers had been shopkeepers and teachers before the war. Gentle people who you would say hello to. Now they all seemed so full of hate. Murdering people because someone told them to and actually enjoying it. Boys like me were bought up with the lies the Nazis had taught us. We were born in a depression that was caused by what happened to Germany after the Great War. But men like Gunter were insane. I really believed him and people like him to be insane. Hatred for his enemy which became insanity. Or was he frustrated because he knew the soldiers we had just murdered were part of a group that would soon defeat us? They would take whatever we had left. Our families, friends, belongings and probably our lives.

***

While Gunter was doing this the rest of my squad were firing their rifles at the two fleeing soldiers, shooting them in the back. This was when I realized what death actually was. I also realized I had just murdered two fellow human beings in cold blood. I did not fire another shot. I had Gunter in front of me kicking a corpse and the rest of my squad at my left side shooting two dead Russian soldiers. The soldiers had been cut down like dogs. My squad firing as if they were on a target range. They all had a look of savagery on their young faces. They seemed on the verge of hysteria. This was the first time any of us had seen any action and we were the victors. We were only boys doing what we had been shown. What did we know? I realized at that moment the world had gone mad. I had finally seen it for myself.

All nineteen Russian soldiers were dead. I could now see their bodies close up. They were all lying face down in the debris of the ruined city. There was a small red hole in the body of each man, where their life had once been. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. A lot of bullets had been fired.

An eerie silence now hung round us, only broken by heavy breathing. No one spoke, I hoped all of my squad felt like me. I had known them all a