The Collapse of the Third Reich

By early 1945, Hitler’s crumbling empire faced its inevitable demise. Allied forces closed in from both fronts – Eisenhower’s Western forces reached the Elbe River just 100 kilometers west of Berlin, while Zhukov’s Red Army stood poised at the Neisse River to the east. The Nazi capital found itself completely encircled, its fate sealed beyond doubt. Yet what should have been a straightforward military conclusion became a complex geopolitical chess match between the Allies.

The question wasn’t whether Berlin would fall, but rather which army would claim the symbolic prize of conquering the Nazi heartland. In a surprising strategic pivot, Eisenhower redirected his forces south toward Munich and Leipzig, effectively conceding Berlin to the Soviets. This controversial decision stemmed from cold calculations – Allied intelligence estimated taking Berlin would cost at least 100,000 casualties against the fanatical last stand of 800,000 German troops, 10,000 artillery pieces, and 1,000 tanks defending the fortified city.

The Soviet March to Revenge

For the Red Army, Berlin represented more than military objective – it embodied four years of unimaginable suffering and vengeance. Since Operation Barbarossa’s brutal invasion in 1941, Soviet casualties reached staggering proportions, with estimates ranging from 27 to 40 million dead. Entire villages had been erased, families destroyed, and unspeakable atrocities committed across occupied territories.

Zhukov marshaled an overwhelming force for the final assault: 2.5 million troops, 6,250 tanks, 42,000 artillery pieces, and 7,500 aircraft. When the attack commenced on April 16, 1945, Berlin’s night sky turned to day under Soviet illumination flares before being consumed by the devastating fury of Katyusha rocket barrages. Despite fanatical resistance, the city’s defenses crumbled within two weeks. On April 30, as Soviet troops fought through the streets, Hitler married Eva Braun in his bunker before their joint suicide. By midnight, the iconic image of Soviet flags flying over the Reichstag marked the Nazi regime’s symbolic end.

The First Surrender: A Diplomatic Gambit

In the chaotic aftermath, newly appointed Führer Karl Dönitz attempted a strategic surrender. The submarine warfare architect who had perfected “wolf pack” tactics now sought to divide the Allies. On May 4, German delegates surrendered to Montgomery’s 21st Army Group in the west, hoping to secure preferential treatment from Anglo-American forces and avoid Soviet captivity.

This set the stage for the controversial May 7 surrender at Reims. Eisenhower, recognizing the political implications, pressured Soviet liaison officer General Susloparov to sign despite his junior rank and lack of authorization. When news reached Moscow, Stalin erupted in fury – the ceremony’s location in Allied headquarters with minimal Soviet representation seemed designed to diminish the USSR’s wartime sacrifice.

The Second Surrender: Stalin’s Demand

The Soviet leader insisted on a proper ceremony in Berlin, with Zhukov presiding. On May 8 in Karlshorst, Germany officially surrendered again – this time with appropriate protocol. Field Marshal Keitel’s stiff salute went unanswered as he signed nine copies of the surrender documents before midnight, creating the May 9 victory date celebrated in Russia.

The contrast between ceremonies couldn’t have been starker. At Reims, a minor Soviet officer stood beside Allied commanders; in Berlin, the architect of Soviet victory oversaw Germany’s humiliation. This diplomatic clash foreshadowed Cold War tensions, as the Western Allies celebrated Victory in Europe Day on May 8 while the USSR established May 9 as its own memorial date.

The Enduring Legacy of Dual Surrenders

This historical divergence explains why Western leaders abstained from Russia’s 2015 Victory Day celebrations. Beyond contemporary tensions over Ukraine, the fundamental disagreement over which surrender “counted” persists. For Russia, the Berlin ceremony represents hard-won justice after unimaginable sacrifice. The West remembers the earlier Reims agreement as the actual cessation of hostilities.

The twice-surrendered Reich thus left more than a defeated nation – it bequeathed competing narratives about war’s end that continue to shape historical memory and international relations seven decades later. The story of Germany’s final days reminds us that even in victory, history rarely provides simple, unified truths.