He wore a heavy leather military overcoat over his SS uniform and carried a military holdall, which held the briefcase and a change of civilian clothes. In one pocket he carried a silenced Mauser pistol, and a Schmeisser machine pistol was slung across his chest. He moved along the edge of the Tiergarten, aware of people everywhere, mainly refugees, crossed by the Brandenburg Gate, and arrived at Goebbels’ house quite quickly. Like most properties in the area it had suffered damage, but the vast garage building seemed intact. The sliding doors were closed, but there was a small Judas gate, which Bormann opened cautiously.

It was dark in there and a voice called, “Stay where you are, hands high.”

Lights were switched on and Bormann found a young man in the uniform of a Captain in the Luftwaffe and a flying jacket standing by the wall, a pistol in his hand. The small Feiseler Storch spotter plane stood in the center of the empty garage.

“Captain Neumann?”

“General Strasser?” The young man looked relieved and holstered his pistol. “Thank God, I’ve been expecting Ivans ever since I got here.”

“You have orders?”

“Of course. Rechlin to refuel and then Bergen. A distinct pleasure, actually.”

“Do you think we stand a chance of getting away?”

“There’s nothing up there to shoot us down at the moment. Filthy weather. Only ground fire to worry about.” He grinned. “Is your luck good, General?”

“Always.”

“Excellent. I’ll start up, you get in and we’ll taxi across the road to the Brandenburg Gate. From there I’ll take off toward the Victory Column. They won’t be expecting that because the wind is in the wrong direction.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Bormann asked.

“Absolutely.” Neumann climbed up into the cabin and started the engine.

There was broken glass and rubble in the street and the Storch bumped its way along, passing many astonished refugees, moved across the Brandenburg Gate and turned toward the Victory Column in the distance. The rain was driving down.