In Europe

visit, asked me to extend his regards to General Paulus and wish him lots of luck, etc. So I mustered all my courage and told him that I couldn't leave while there was any risk of a misunderstanding, that General Paulus had given me explicit orders to inform him of the real situation at Stalingrad. And he actually let me tell my story; he listened carefully, asked a couple of good questions and didn't interrupt me.
    ‘But the generals did: “Listen, there's an SS armoured corps headed for Stalingrad to help you break free, isn't that right?” But I knew that that SS army was not only far too small, but that it had already been torn apart by Russian T-34s close to Charkhov anyway. What Hitler and his generals were completely unwilling to see was the change the Russians had undergone. They had observed the Germans carefully, they had quickly switched to wartime industry, they had built enormous tank factories 1,000 kilometres back from the Volga, and were now beating us with our own weapons and tactics. At that moment I realised that Hitler livedonly in a fantasy world of maps and little flags. It was then that I knew for certain that we would lose the war.
    ‘So did my plain speaking, at the age of twenty-three, actually change anything? I believe it did. But the difference it made was not at all what I had been expecting. No reinforcements or other help came. But, two days later, the tone of the propaganda changed. They no longer talked about “victories”, but about the “heroic battle at Stalingrad” and the “twilight of the gods in the face of Russian communism” … well, anyone with ears to hear knew enough then.
    ‘After that, Goebbels began skilfully developing his theatre of heroics. General Paulus’ promotion to field marshal should be seen in that light: he was to go down fighting at the head of his troops, banner in hand, the quintessential hero's death. But Paulus didn't seem to understand his role very well. He let himself be taken prisoner, appeared as a witness at the Nuremberg tribunal, then spent the rest of his days in a villa close to Moscow, playing cards and writing his memoirs. He didn't die until 1957, in the DDR, in Dresden, in bed.
    ‘Today there are historians who say that any general but Paulus would have tried to break through the Russian lines; who claim that doing that would probably have saved 100,000 men. I wonder about that. While it was still possible, to have done that would have been in violation of all of Hitler and Manstein's orders. So it would have been outright insubordination. The rest of the Eastern Front would probably have collapsed.
    ‘Secondly, the eighty tanks we still had were almost out of fuel. Our artillery couldn't move up or pull back, the soldiers had eaten most of the horses. And we were facing 2,000 Russian T-34 tanks.
    ‘Thirdly, almost all our troops had to move on foot, because there was no other transport. And they had to drag their own equipment along through that icy wind. It would have been as much a debacle as Napoleon's retreat from Moscow.
    ‘I wanted to go back to Stalingrad, to my comrades. But when I got to Taganrog three days later, the airfield commander there said I was not allowed to fly on to Stalingrad. Instead I was detached to Field Marshal Erhard Milch's staff, as special liaison officer for Stalingrad. Looking back on it, I thank the good Lord that I was kept from flying out.
    ‘As it was, I was the one who received that famous last report, in theearly morning of 31 January, 1943: “Russians at the door. We are going to break the connection.” A few seconds later they sent another transmission: “We are breaking.” After that, nothing more.
    ‘By the end of the war I had served under three field marshals: Rommel, who committed suicide on Hitler's orders, Kluge, who killed himself as well, and Model, who shot himself just before Germany capitulated.
    ‘The messenger bearing news of my death never came to my parents’ door in Berlin. At the end, though, the war still dealt my father a severe blow. When the Russians entered the city, a feisty old gentleman in their neighbourhood was foolhardy enough to fire his shotgun at them, one last time. By way of retaliation, the Russian commander had all the men in the surrounding area brought out, lined up and blindfolded. My father didn't need a blindfold, of course. Then the commander chose a firing squad, counted to two, and on three he said: “Russian soldiers don't