This book began by pointing out the extreme rarity of a country being able and prepared to fight on in war to the point of total destruction. It is equally rare that the powerful elites of a country, most obviously the military, are unable or unwilling to remove a leader seen to be taking them down with him to complete disaster. Yet, recognized by all to be taking place and, increasingly, to be inevitable, this drive to all-enveloping national catastrophe – comprehensive military defeat, physical ruination, enemy occupation and, even beyond this, moral bankruptcy – was precisely what happened in Germany in 1945. The preceding chapters have tried to explain how this was possible. They have shown the long process of inexorable collapse of Europe’s most powerful state under external military pressure. They have also tried to bring out the self-destructive dynamic – by no means confined to Hitler – built into the Nazi state. Most of all, they have sought to demonstrate that the reasons why Germany chose to fight to the very end, and was capable of doing so, are complex, not reducible to a single easy generalization.
The Allied demand for ‘unconditional surrender’, often seen as ruling out any alternative to fighting on to the end, provides no adequate explanation. German propaganda of course exploited the demand in its ceaseless efforts to bolster the will to hold out, claiming that the enemy, west and east, intended to destroy Germany’s very existence as a nation. But ever fewer people in the last months, as we have seen, believed such messages, at least as regards the western powers.
More significant were the implications of the policy for the regime’s elite. Certainly, ‘unconditional surrender’ was grist to Hitler’s mill, insistent as he was that there could be no consideration of capitulation. And ‘unconditional surrender’ did make it impossible to end the war in the west – which most German leaders, though not Hitler, would have been prepared to negotiate – without also ending it in the east. Even the Dönitz administration following Hitler’s death rejected this option – since it meant condemning nearly 2 million German soldiers to Soviet captivity – until Eisenhower gave it no choice in the matter, thus ensuring that the war went on for a further eight days of bloodshed and suffering. On the other hand, the demand for ‘unconditional surrender’ did not lead to any reconsideration by the Wehrmacht High Command of German strategy from early 1943 onwards – in so far as any overall strategy existed beyond an ideologically framed self-destructive drive to hold out to the point of total perdition.1 It provided useful justification for fighting on to the end. But it was not the cause of the determination to do so.
The claim that it undermined the possibility of the resistance movement gaining wider support and a greater possibility of toppling Hitler also remains a doubtful proposition.2 In any case, ‘unconditional surrender’ did not, of course, prevent an attempted coup d’état. Stauffenberg and his co-conspirators in the bomb plot of July 1944 acted in full awareness of the Allied demand, and, had they succeeded, would immediately have tried to sue for peace terms. And most of Hitler’s paladins, and numerous generals, would have been willing, as we have noted, at one point or another to parley their way to a settlement, if Hitler had agreed, undeterred by the uncompromising Allied position.
So although ‘unconditional surrender’ was undoubtedly a factor in the equation, it cannot be regarded as the decisive or dominant issue in compelling the Germans to fight on.3 Churchill himself later rejected the claim that ‘unconditional surrender’ had been a mistake which had prolonged the war. In fact, he went so far as to state that an alternative statement on peace terms, which the Allies had several times attempted to draft, would have been more harmful to any German attempts to seek peace since the conditions ‘looked so terrible when set forth on paper, and so far exceeded what was in fact done, that their publication would only have stimulated German resistance’.4
Nor can Allied mistakes in strategy and tactics, weakening their own efforts to bring the war to an early end and contributing to the protracted end to the great conflict also by temporarily boosting the confidence of the German defenders, be seen as the key factor. Important errors were certainly made, and contributed to the inability of the Allies, after the Normandy landings in the west and the Red Army’s surge through Poland in the east, to finish off Germany by Christmas, as they had in their early optimism initially thought possible.
As we saw in earlier chapters, in the west, the divergence in strategic aims between Eisenhower and Montgomery, underpinned by their personal differences (owing mainly to the latter’s overbearing personality and some ingrained anti-American prejudice in the British military elite), prevented full exploitation of the breakthrough in France in August 1944, which had left the German western front in great disarray. As a result, compounded by the British failure to secure the port in Antwerp and by the disaster at Arnhem, the Wehrmacht was able to reinforce western defences and bring the Allied attack almost to a standstill for several precious weeks. The Allies never fully regained their momentum – and suffered a further temporary setback in the Ardennes offensive – until March 1945. On the eastern front, the Red Army’s mistakes in operational planning also meant that the massive assault of the summer of 1944, devastating though it was for the Wehrmacht, did not bring an early end to the war. A bold thrust to the Pomeranian coast, which German defence planners had feared, would have cleared the way for a much earlier attack on Berlin than in fact took place and could possibly have brought total collapse long before May 1945.
What might have occurred had the British and Americans in the west and the Soviets in the east taken different strategic decisions can of course only be a matter of speculation. Perhaps the war would have been over much earlier. But just as possibly, other errors or hesitations – war inevitably producing its own frequent surprises and seldom going according to plans laid down on paper – might have played their part and prevented a more rapid conclusion.
In a similar realm of ultimately futile speculation is the question of what the outcome might have been to a successful assassination of Hitler and takeover of the state by the conspirators behind the July plot of 1944. Had they succeeded, Stauffenberg and the successful plotters would unquestionably have sought peace with the west, though almost certainly not in the east. Most likely, the west would have refused consideration of anything other than ‘unconditional surrender’ on all fronts, since to do otherwise would have split the coalition with the Soviet Union, which rested fundamentally on the complete destruction of German militarism as well as Nazism. With Hitler dead, the leaders of the successful coup would have been faced with the choice of either accepting the terms of complete capitulation or fighting on. Probably, they would have felt compelled to agree to total surrender. The war might, therefore, have been over in July 1944, with the saving of the immense bloodshed that occurred in subsequent months. But would the military leadership, especially in the east, have agreed? And would Nazi diehards, most notably in the SS, have gone along with it? Shored up by a new ‘stab-in-the-back’ legend focused on the image of the dead, heroic Führer, portrayed as killed by his own officers when leading Germany’s fight for existence, powerful internal forces might have resisted and even toppled the new government. Civil war might have ensued.
In the nature of things, the endless fascination of such ‘what-if?’ speculation can provide no answers. This book has attempted, therefore, to assess not what might have been, but what did in fact happen, and to evaluate on that basis the reasons for Germany fighting on to the end. On the basis of the evidence presented in earlier chapters, it is time to draw the threads of an answer together.
First of all, it was plainly not the case, as has sometimes been claimed, that the population backed Hitler and the Nazi regime to the end. ‘The people have no confidence any longer in the leadership,’ ran an internal report, one of the many cited above, in March 1945. ‘The Führer is drawn more strongly by the day into the question of confidence and into the criticism.’5 The bonds with Hitler, at the top and bottom of society, had, it is true, at least in the short term been strengthened in July 1944 by the failure of Stauffenberg’s bomb plot. As we saw, there was a surge in Hitler’s lagging popularity among the civilian population and among frontline soldiers, to go from their letters home. And most of the generals, even those who were far from regime enthusiasts, were utterly dismayed by the attempt on Hitler’s life, as their private diary entries and remarks not meant for public consumption demonstrate. But apart from this brief resurgence, Hitler’s popularity had been on the wane since winter 1941 and by 1944–5 was in free fall. Significant reserves of his popularity did remain among a dwindling minority of the population – though, to be sure, a minority that still held power. By early 1945, however, support for Hitler was very low.
And by now the Nazi Party was widely hated. As Goebbels admitted, the Party was largely ‘played out’ well before the end, the target of bitter resentment as its functionaries disappeared into the ether, abandoning the population. Despite the intensified efforts of propaganda, the reports reaching Goebbels spoke with a clear voice. Propaganda could do little or nothing to counter what people were seeing with their own eyes. Its gung-ho messages were increasingly scorned by a population yearning for an end to the war and inexorably turning against the regime which had brought such misery upon Germany. There is little to be said for the view that the ‘people’s community’ retained its cohesion and integrative force behind the war effort. The much-vaunted ‘people’s community’ had in fact long since dissolved as it become a question of ‘save yourself, if you can’.
Yet there were important partial affinities that went beyond support for the regime but still objectively underpinned it. Crucially, the regime’s existence was intertwined with defence of country and homeland – a cause upheld by most Germans, even when they despised Hitler and the Nazis. The overwhelming proportion of the population, as numerous internal reports acknowledged, yearned for the end of the war. But there was an obvious ambivalence. Few wanted foreign occupation, least of all by the feared Russians. But as long as they fought to their utmost to avoid being overrun by the enemy, Germans were, whatever their motives and desires, helping the regime to continue functioning. And however demoralized, for the vast majority of Germans there was in any case simply no alternative to carrying on.
The role played by terror in this can scarcely be overstated. Without it there may well have been a popular uprising. But the regime was a grave danger to its own citizens, increasingly so after the sharp intensification of terror in February 1945. Very justifiably, people felt greatly intimidated. In the death-throes of the regime the terror, earlier exported, rebounded back onto the population of Germany itself, and not just its persecuted minorities. Among ordinary soldiers, the numbers of deserters, intermingled with ‘stragglers’, soared. Military courts, as we noted, reacted with harsh exemplary punishment. The summary courts martial introduced in mid-February were no more than kangaroo courts meting out little other than death sentences, and in early March, when such courts were made itinerant, the ‘flying court martial’ could turn up in any frontline area, and within minutes have sentenced to death those denounced as shirkers, defeatists or subversives, carrying out the sentence instantly. Remarkably, military courts were still passing death sentences even after the capitulation. Among civilians, too, anyone stepping out of line, even in desperation, could to the very end meet brutal retribution. Largely owing to the intimidatory effect of such terror, the popular mood was resigned, war-weary and pessimistic, but not rebellious. Those who dared raise their voices, let alone take any action, against the regime were viciously struck down. Most, sensibly, took the view that they could do nothing – except wait for the end and hope that the Americans and British got there before the Russians.
Yet terror does not explain all. It works as an explanation mainly at the grass-roots level. Tens of thousands of soldiers deserted, and many faced summary execution as a consequence. But even here, and bearing in mind the wider intimidatory effect of the drastic punishment awaiting those refusing to fight, the vast majority did not desert – or even contemplate deserting. They fought on, often fatalistically, even reluctantly, but frequently even in the last desperate weeks with high commitment, even enthusiasm. That cannot be accounted for by terror.6 And at the higher level of the Wehrmacht, among those senior officers with power of decision and command, terror played little role. Apart from those involved in the bomb plot, generals were not terrorized. Some were dismissed. But they were not executed.
For the German people, and even more for the racial and political victims of Nazism, the intensified terror alongside the terrible suffering could not end until the regime itself was destroyed by military might. This was in no small part because many of those wielding power, in particular those in high places, but also functionaries and representatives of the Party and its affiliates at regional and local level, realized that they had burnt their boats and had no future. Party and SS leaders had been involved in the worst atrocities against Jews and others. Goebbels saw this as a positive factor in ensuring their continued fanaticism and backing for the regime (often underpinned by belief in some ferocious ‘Jewish revenge’). Hitler thought exactly the same way. As Nazi rule fragmented, the regime increasingly ran amok as police, SS, regional and local Party officials took matters in the provinces into their own hands. Hundreds of citizens fell victim to uncontrolled violence by Nazi fanatics in the last weeks of the regime, often in the attempt to prevent the senseless destruction of their towns or villages in continued fighting as the enemy approached. Prisoners and foreign workers were now more exposed than ever to the wild and unconstrained violence. And with the enemy on the doorstep, pointless forced marches of thousands of concentration camp prisoners, many of them Jews, left countless numbers dead, the rest terrorized and traumatized.
The ‘desperado-actions’ of many Party activists in the last weeks reflected the readiness of those who were well aware that they had no future to take enemies down with them, to exact revenge against long-standing opponents, to settle personal scores, and to ensure that those who had rejected the regime should not be around to triumph at its downfall. Though these fanatics were a small minority, they were a minority still wielding power over life and death. Their self-destructive urges paralleled those of Hitler and the regime leadership, helping through their own brutality to guarantee that Nazi power continued and that any manifestations of resistance from below were swiftly extinguished.
The Party and its affiliates increasingly occupied all the organizational space beyond the military sphere after July 1944 and gained hugely extended powers over citizens and over civil administration. Martin Bormann used his proximity to Hitler and his command of the Party’s central administration to reinvigorate the Party and push the state administration out of any importance in policy-making. The ‘time of struggle’ before the Party gained power in 1933 was repeatedly evoked as activists were urged to take radical steps to complete the ‘Nazi revolution’.
Below Bormann, a pivotal role was played by the Gauleiter. As Reich Defence Commissars, responsible for civil defence in their areas, they had enormous scope for interference in practically all spheres of daily life (and for imposing summary retribution for non-compliance). They and their subordinates at district and local level controlled, among other things, distribution of welfare, compulsory evacuation of citizens from threatened areas, access to air-raid shelters, clearance of bomb damage, and compulsory recruitment to forced labour on defence installations. And they were key agents for Goebbels’ total-war drive to comb out last reserves of manpower from offices and workplaces to raise men for the Wehrmacht. The increase in the Party’s dominance did nothing to create a streamlined administration. But it did massively strengthen its grip over government and society. In the last months of the war, Germany was as close to a totally mobilized and militarized society as it is possible to get. The mass of Germans were oppressed, browbeaten and marshalled as never before. There was by now scarcely any avenue of life remaining free from the intrusions of the Party and its affiliates.
A big step towards the complete militarization of society was the introduction of the Volkssturm in the autumn of 1944. It was militarily as good as useless. It was lampooned as the awaited ‘miracle weapon’ and generally derided. And it was a sign, recognized by all, of how desperate things had become. Sensible individuals did all they could to avoid having to serve in it, with justification given its high loss rate, especially on the eastern front. But as a control structure for the regime, it was far from devoid of significance. And its leadership was often in the hands of fervent Nazis, increasingly involved in many policing ‘actions’, including atrocities against other Germans viewed as cowards or defeatists.
Despite the drain of actual power away from the state bureaucracy – reduced largely to an instrument of administrative implementation – and increasingly into the hands of the Party at all levels, the regime was also sustained to the end by a sophisticated and experienced bureaucratic machine. This surmounted any number of huge difficulties to keep on functioning, if with sharply decreasing effectiveness, especially in the last months, till there was little or nothing left to administer. Without the organizational capacity that came from educated, well-trained civil servants at different levels, the administration would surely have collapsed much earlier. The judicial system, too, still meting out draconian sentences, continued to function to the end, sustaining the radicalized terror against German citizens and against persecuted minorities. Throughout the civil service, there was an almost unthinking loyalty, not specifically to Hitler but to the abstraction of ‘the state’, and commitment to what was seen as ‘duty’. Even for civil servants scornful of Hitler and disdainful of Nazi bosses, it was enough to provide support for a system in terminal collapse. We saw the near incomprehension of Kritzinger, the State Secretary in the Reich Chancellery, when asked by his post-war interrogators why he had continued to work so hard when all was so obviously lost, replying: ‘As a long-standing civil servant I was duty-bound in loyalty to the state.’ The mentality was replicated at top and bottom of the large civil service.
The savagery of the war in the east provided its own motivation for carrying on fighting and rejecting all thoughts of surrender. This was a war quite unlike the conflict in the west. Military leaders and rank-and-file soldiers alike were well aware that they had been responsible for or implicated in countless atrocities in the east – torched villages, mass executions of partisans, shootings of tens of thousands of Jews. The barbarity of warfare on the eastern front meant, as they well knew, that they could expect no mercy if they fell into Soviet hands.
The propaganda image of Nemmersdorf, scene of Soviet atrocities in October 1944, was worse than the reality – but that had certainly been bad enough. Nemmersdorf encapsulated the fear of Bolshevism, something hammered home over the years in incessant propaganda but now no longer an abstraction. For soldiers fighting in the east, or those elsewhere with families in the threatened eastern regions, there was not simply an ideological reason for fighting on. The ideological fight against ‘Asiatic hordes’ and ‘Bolshevik beasts’, and even the patriotic defence of the nation, merged subliminally into a desperate attempt to stave off the very obvious threat to families and homes or to avenge the atrocities of the Red Army. Beyond these motives, soldiers fought out of group solidarity for their immediate comrades and, in the last resort, for their own survival.
Vital to the regime’s ability to fight on was, not least, the role of the officer corps of the armed forces. The war brought soaring numbers – to nearly 200,000, including reserve officers, in early 1944 – and a very rapid turnover. The army lost 269,000 officers during the war, 87,000 of them killed. In September 1944 an average of 317 officers a day – mostly low-ranking – were killed, wounded or taken captive. The junior and middle-ranking officers were crucial cogs in the military machine. Many had swallowed tenets of Nazi doctrine in the Hitler Youth and in subsequent training courses, and had been hardened by battle and involvement in murderous ‘pacification’ and genocidal actions in the east.7 As we noted, Nazi penetration of the armed forces was sharply intensified after the failed bomb plot with the introduction of the ‘Heil Hitler’ greeting instead of the traditional military salute and extended use of NSFOs to instil fanaticism and loyalty in the troops. The brutal reprisals against those involved in the Stauffenberg plot and the repeated tirades of vilification of army officers by Nazi leaders, from Hitler downwards, also produced their own pressure not just to conform but to display enthusiastic commitment.
At the top, the generals held the key. Most were too old to have been schooled in Nazism like the more junior officers. But their older nationalist mentalities had blended easily with Nazi ideals and they had wide experience of – and support for – the ideological ‘war of annihilation’ on the eastern front. Only loyalists were left after the purge that followed the failed bomb plot. That did not prevent serious disputes over tactics developing between individual generals and Hitler. Numerous generals were made scapegoats for defeats or for their inability to fulfil absurd orders. But they were not temperamentally or organizationally capable of challenging Hitler or staging another attempted military coup. Most generals took their oath of allegiance to Hitler extremely seriously and were tortured by the thought that they might be compelled to disobey orders. Even where the oath served as little more than a pretext for compliance and a retreat from any political responsibility on the grounds that they were purely soldiers carrying out their duty, the traditional military imperatives of order and obedience were distorted in the Third Reich to an extreme readiness to yield to the commands of the Führer, however irrational.8 Ultimately, a deeply inculcated but utterly warped sense of duty provided both motivation and alibi for the Third Reich’s military leaders.9
The generals were divided among themselves. The bugged conversations of those in British captivity, referred to on several occasions in preceding chapters, reveal sharp divergence in views.10 It was no different among those generals still holding positions of high command in Germany and on its borders. As fervent nationalists, they saw it as axiomatic to be ready to do their utmost for the defence of the Reich, even where they had inwardly broken with Hitler or despised the Party and its representatives. But some, in fact, remained fanatical backers of Hitler, like the brutal Field-Marshal Ferdinand Schörner, whose ruthlessness in enforcing discipline made him notorious even in the top ranks of the army, or Grand-Admiral Karl Dönitz, who demanded in April 1945 that every ship and naval base be defended to the last in accordance with the Führer’s orders, offering his men the choice of victory or death. Most high-ranking officers, like Dönitz, held to the fiction that they were ‘unpolitical’, and that political decisions were solely and rightly the concern of the state leadership. But without their support, whatever their motives, it is plain that the state leadership could not have continued, and nor could the war.
Even where they disagreed fundamentally with Hitler’s tactics, the generals did not dispute his right to issue them, and fought on loyally. Faced with increasingly insane orders for the defence of Berlin, Colonel-General Heinrici nonetheless felt that to refuse them was to commit treason. The example of Field-Marshal Kesselring, refusing even at the end of April 1945 to condone surrender in Italy as long as the Führer was alive, is a further graphic case.
Crucial in enabling the regime to fight on was also the radicalization of the structure of power beneath Hitler in the last months. In the wake of Stauffenberg’s assassination attempt, the regime was swiftly buttressed. Changes were made that shored it up in the last months and ruled out any internal collapse, with power below Hitler largely divided between the four Nazi grandees. Bormann, as we saw, greatly expanded the mobilizing and controlling role of the Party, extending its hold over almost all facets of daily life. Goebbels now combined the key areas of propaganda and mobilization for the total-war effort. Without the million extra men that he raised by the end of 1944, the Wehrmacht would simply not have been able to replace the extraordinary losses it was suffering. Himmler, with his takeover of the command of the Replacement Army (from whose headquarters Stauffenberg had orchestrated the plot to kill Hitler), extended his terror apparatus into the Wehrmacht itself. Only the Replacement Army had been capable of planning the attempted coup d’état in 1944. In Himmler’s hands, that potential was removed. And Speer achieved miracles of management and organization in producing sufficient armaments, despite the growing crisis of production and transport through Allied bombing and territorial losses, to ensure that the troops still had weapons to fight with. If Speer, who was very late in accepting that the war was irredeemably lost, had worked half as hard, Germany could not have held out for remotely so long.
The quadrumvirate of Bormann, Goebbels, Himmler and Speer – three of them among the most brutal and radical fanatics, the fourth an ambitious, power-hungry organizational genius – was instrumental to the continuation of the war. But the four were divided among themselves and suspicious of each other – a characteristic of the Nazi state. And each of them knew that his power depended on a higher authority – that of Hitler.
Finally, but far from least, we come to Hitler himself. He never deviated from what had been the leitmotiv of his political existence, that there would never, ever, be a ‘cowardly’ capitulation and internal revolution as there had been in 1918. He consequently and consistently refused all entreaties from his paladins to consider a negotiated settlement. For him, that could only follow a victory, not a defeat. There was never a chance of that, once the vice closed on the Third Reich after the major enemy successes, east and west, from June 1944 onwards. The Allied demand for ‘unconditional surrender’ simply played to his mentality and convictions. ‘Heroic’ total destruction was for him infinitely preferable to what he saw as the coward’s way out of capitulation. The plight of the German people did not concern him. They had proved weak in the war, and deserved to go under. After the failure of the Ardennes offensive, he was clear-sighted enough to see that his last card had been played. But he clutched at one straw after another in desperation and impotence to turn the tide that was about to engulf him. Suicide was the obvious and likely way out. In fact, it became the only way out. It was simply a matter of time, and of timing, so that he could not be captured by the Russians. It was also the easy way out for him, since he knew that whatever happened he had no future after the war. But as long as he lived, his power – if over a rapidly diminishing Reich – could not be challenged, as Göring and Himmler learnt even in the very last days of his life.
Hitler’s personality was self-evidently scarcely insignificant to Germany’s continued fight. Generals and political leaders alike found him absolutely intransigent if they proposed any alternative course of action. Even in the last weeks some went in to see him demoralized and disconsolate and came away with new enthusiasm and determination. Under a different head of state, say Göring (until his ousting on 23 April 1945 Hitler’s designated successor), it seems highly likely that Germany would have sued for peace at some point earlier than May 1945. It is indeed questionable whether in the event of Hitler’s earlier demise Göring (or Himmler, the only other feasible candidate to have succeeded) would have had the internal authority with the generals to continue the prosecution of the war. Such a counter-factual scenario only emphasizes once more how much Hitler’s insistence on the continuation of the war provided the major obstacle to halting it. This cannot, however, be regarded solely as a matter of Hitler’s domineering personality – his intransigence, his detachment from reality, his readiness to take the country and German people down with him to total perdition – however important this was. Beyond this is the question of why the power elite was prepared to allow him to dictate in such disastrous fashion to the end.
Albert Speer ruminated in pseudo self-reproach in his memoirs about why, when it was obvious that Germany was as good as finished economically and militarily, Hitler was not faced with any joint action from those military leaders in regular contact with him to demand an explanation of how he was going to end the war (with the implication that they might have forced him to do so). Speer thought of such a move coming from Göring, Keitel, Jodl, Dönitz, Guderian and himself.11 The proposition, as he well knew, was absurd.12 Structurally as well as individually, the group he mentioned was divided and (his own and Guderian’s growing estrangement aside) in any case arch-loyalists, three of whom fervently backed Hitler’s ‘hold-out’ orders.
Confronting Hitler in any organized body, political or military, was completely impossible. The dissolution, from early in the Third Reich and ever more pronounced during the war, of all structures of collective government ensured that. Mussolini’s deposition in July 1943 had come from within his own organization, the Fascist Grand Council. And above Mussolini, at least nominally, stood an alternative source of loyalty: the King of Italy. No similar structures existed in Nazi Germany. Hitler was head of state, commander-in-chief of the armed forces, head of government and head of the Party. He had consistently resisted suggestions to reinstate a form of collective government in the Reich cabinet and the creation of a senate of the Nazi Party to determine, among other things, the succession. The Gauleiter were summoned to assemble periodically, but only to hear pep-talks from Hitler. Even in the armed forces, there was a damaging division between the High Command of the Wehrmacht (responsible for operations outside the eastern front) and the High Command of the Army (responsible for only the eastern front).
The problem was compounded by the fact that Hitler was not just supreme commander of the Wehrmacht as a whole, but also Commander-in-Chief of the Army. Even compared with other authoritarian regimes, the personalization of rule in Hitler’s regime was extreme. Structures of power, each imbued in varied measure with Nazi ideological values, were all bound to Hitler, gaining legitimation from his ‘charismatic leadership’. The fragmentation of governance reflected the character of Hitler’s absolute power, even when this started to wane in the very last weeks. Though Hitler’s mass appeal as a charismatic leader had been in steep decline since the middle of the war, the fragmentation of rule beneath him that had been a hallmark of his charismatic rule from the beginning lasted to the end. It was a fundamental reason why an earlier collapse, or a resort to a negotiated settlement – any alternative to the inexorable course to self-destruction – did not take place.
The mindset of the ruling elite had attuned to the character of charismatic domination and underpinned the structural determinants preventing any challenge to Hitler. Among Nazi leaders, the personal bonds forged with him at an earlier time proved almost impossible to break even when the nimbus of infallibility built into the personality cult faded. So did the utter dependence on Hitler for positions of power. Speer admittedly distanced himself, though very belatedly, and even he felt an inward urge to make a perilous and futile last trip back into the Führer Bunker in the very last days to say his personal farewell to the leader he had once idolized. Göring, despite bearing the brunt of Hitler’s fury at the failure of the Luftwaffe, never broke with him. His deposition from all his offices on 23 April followed a misunderstanding wilfully exploited by Bormann, one of the Reich Marshal’s arch-enemies. Bormann himself was the loyal right hand of his master, turning Hitler’s tirades and outbursts into bureaucratic regulations and orders. Himmler was the strong arm of repression who, despite surreptitiously going his own way in the last months in an attempt to retain a position of power in a post-Hitler world, continued to recognize his dependency. The breach with Hitler came at the very last, and, as with Göring, seems to have followed a misunderstanding, when Himmler presumed reports of the Dictator’s breakdown on 22 April had meant his effective abdication. The most committed of all the top Nazi leaders, and among the most clear-sighted of Hitler’s acolytes, Joseph Goebbels, was one of the very few prepared to stay with him to the end and cast himself on the great funeral pyre of the Third Reich.
Beneath the top echelon of Party bosses, the Gauleiter still presented a phalanx of outright loyalists, whatever their private feelings, who had long since bound themselves irredeemably to Hitler, even though in the last weeks they started of necessity to take independent action as communications with Berlin broke down. Their last collective meeting with Hitler, on 24 February 1945, showed that Hitler’s authority was still intact among this important group.
Among military leaders, the stance of Grand-Admiral Karl Dönitz, head of the navy and at Hitler’s death his nominated successor as head of state, is illustrative of the lasting bonds with Hitler. In contrast to his post-war reputation of a military professional who had simply done his duty, Dönitz had been one of the foremost fanatics in his support for Hitler’s orders to fight to the last, an outright Nazi in his attitude. But with Hitler gone, the chief and unyielding barrier to capitulation was removed. Given overall responsibility and feeling freed from his oath of loyalty to Hitler, Dönitz saw the need to bow to military and political reality and looked immediately to find a negotiated end to a lost war. This sudden reversal of his stance by Dönitz underlines as clearly as anything how much the fight to the end, down to complete defeat and destruction, was owing not just to Hitler in person, but to the character of his rule and the mentalities that had upheld his charismatic domination.
Of the reasons why Germany was able and willing to fight on to the end, these structures of rule and underlying mentalities behind them are the most fundamental. All the other factors – lingering popular backing for Hitler, the ferocious terror apparatus, the increased dominance of the Party, the prominent roles of the Bormann–Goebbels–Himmler–Speer quadrumvirate, the negative integration produced by the fear of Bolshevik occupation, and the continued readiness of high-ranking civil servants and military leaders to continue doing their duty when all was obviously lost – were ultimately subordinate to the way the charismatic Führer regime was structured, and how it functioned, in its dying phase. Paradoxically, it was by this time charismatic rule without charisma. Hitler’s mass charismatic appeal had long since dissolved, but the structures and mentalities of his charismatic rule lasted until his death in the bunker. The dominant elites, divided as they were, possessed neither the collective will nor the mechanisms of power to prevent Hitler taking Germany to total destruction.
That was decisive.