Inside the Governor-General's Palace, far beneath the cracked marble floors and the once-grand pillars now shaking under the thunder of artillery, lay an old bunker. It was an eighteenth-century relic, built in an age when cannons were still drawn by horses and war unfolded slowly, honorably, and far removed from the chaos of modern weaponry.
For decades, the narrow chamber had remained locked, forgotten, and left to grow damp with time. The stench of mold and rust seeped into its blackened stone walls.
Now, the bunker breathed again.
Several Dutch men crouched inside, sitting on decayed wooden benches or directly on the wet floor. Oil lamps swayed back and forth, their shadows dancing wildly every time an explosion shook the palace above. Dust fell from the ceiling, and each detonation made their hearts leap faster.
At the center of the room stood an old man in the rumpled, dust-stained uniform of a Governor-General, struggling to remain upright. His hands trembled as he braced himself against the stone wall. He was Andries Cornelis Dirk de Graeff, the thirty-first Governor-General of the Dutch East Indies. He had ruled the colony for only three years, yet history seemed to have chosen him as the witness to the collapse of an old order.
His face was pale. Eyes that were once sharp and commanding were now filled with anxiety. Every explosion above felt like a hammer striking the lid of his own coffin.
He was afraid—afraid in a way he had never known before. Not the fear of losing his position, but the realization that his life, and the lives of his family, could end at any moment.
Crying… crying…
The sound pierced his mind more sharply than the artillery.
Not far from him, a young girl sobbed uncontrollably in the arms of a middle-aged woman. The girl was Maria, his youngest daughter. Her brown hair was disheveled, her cheeks soaked with unceasing tears. She was too young to understand politics, power, or the word "independence." All she knew were explosions, darkness, and a suffocating fear.
The woman holding her was Caroline Angelique van der Wijck, Andries' wife and Maria's mother. Caroline's face was tense, yet her eyes remained alert and full of love. She stroked Maria's back repeatedly, trying to calm her child even as her own heart trembled.
Caroline lifted her face and looked at her husband.
It was not a look of accusation, nor of anger. It was the gaze of a mother—a wordless plea that their children's safety be placed above all else.
Andries noticed the look, yet he remained standing in silence. His jaw tightened. As Governor-General, surrender meant the destruction of his reputation. In The Hague, his name would become a subject of ridicule. Aristocrats would whisper behind closed doors, calling him weak, a failure, unworthy of leading an empire.
But each explosion above eroded his resolve.
Footsteps… footsteps…
The sound of boots echoed through the narrow bunker corridor. The remaining KNIL guards immediately went on alert, gripping their rifles with sweaty hands. From the corridor emerged a man in a worn KNIL uniform, caked with dust. His face was exhausted, his eyes red from smoke and despair.
He was Maurits-Jan Wilgenhof, Andries' personal aide-de-camp.
His presence made everyone in the bunker exhale in relief—at least he was still alive.
Andries stepped forward with difficulty. His voice was hoarse as he spoke in Dutch, struggling to maintain what little authority he had left.
"Maurits… tell me the truth. How are things above? Are we winning, or… losing?"
Maurits lowered his head briefly before answering. When he raised his face again, there was no good news in it.
"I am sorry, Governor… but our defenses at Koningsplein have completely collapsed."
The room seemed to shrink.
"Only a few units remain holding positions around the palace."
He took a breath, his voice trembling with sorrow and anger.
"Furthermore… our ammunition supplies are almost depleted."
The words fell like a death sentence. Some people in the bunker bowed their heads, others closed their eyes. Maurits clenched his fists. Grief over defeat mixed with rage—because the attackers were not strangers. They were former KNIL soldiers, men who had once stood in the same ranks.
"There truly is no hope…" Andries muttered in Dutch, clutching his head. Frustration struck him like a crashing tide.
Caroline could endure no more. She stood up, still holding Maria.
"My husband," she said with a trembling voice, "we should surrender. There is no hope. We must not die here."
She stepped closer, her eyes glistening. "What will become of Maria if we keep fighting?"
As a mother, she feared her daughter would be abused by these rebels.
That name struck Andries' heart harder than any explosion.
He looked at his daughter. Maria's crying weakened into small, exhausted sobs. For the first time since the war began, Andries saw himself not as a Governor-General, but as a father.
A long silence enveloped the bunker.
Finally, Andries let out a deep breath. His shoulders sagged, as though the weight of decades of power had collapsed in an instant. He turned to Maurits.
"Raise the white flag," he said softly but firmly. "We surrender."
Maurits froze. He had never imagined hearing such an order. But when he saw the look in Andries' eyes—the eyes of a man who had chosen family over honor—he nodded.
"At once, sir," he said, saluting before rushing back to the surface.
…
Above ground, the situation changed rapidly.
Independence fighters advanced toward the Governor-General's Palace. The remaining KNIL troops emerged from hiding, dropping their weapons one by one. A white flag fluttered amid smoke and ruins, signaling that resistance had ended.
They were unable to stand against the independence fighters, whose firepower far exceeded their own.
Near Koningsplein, four men had gathered. Heinrich Neumark, the Battalion Commander, looked at three other commanders: Captain Adnan Syuaib, Captain Sasongko Prawiranegara, and Captain Günther Weiner. One commander was missing—his aide, Handoko, who was assigned to monitor the enemy perimeter.
Their faces were smeared with dust and sweat, but their eyes remained alert. They discussed possible escape routes the Governor-General might use. Their objective was clear: Andries must not escape, but he must not die either. He was far too valuable for future negotiations.
As they spoke, Handoko came running and saluted Heinrich.
"Colonel, the Dutch have raised a white flag. They request a meeting with the leader of the assault."
The four exchanged glances. Günther finally spoke. "Günther, come with me to meet them."
Günther nodded. The two men left the meeting point and moved toward the KNIL troops who had raised the white flag, escorted by their subordinates.
They walked toward the palace, flanked by fighters armed with Mauser Gewehr 98 rifles, bayonets fixed. Every step felt historic.
At the shattered palace entrance, Heinrich stopped and called out loudly in Indonesian, his thick German accent unmistakable.
"Who is in command?"
From the remaining KNIL ranks, an adult man stepped forward. His uniform was worn, his face tense.
"I am. Maurits-Jan Wilgenhof, aide to Governor Andries. Who are you?" he said in rough Indonesian.
"Heinrich Neumark," Heinrich replied calmly. "Commander of the 2nd Battalion of the Second Field Force of Siliwangi, Indonesian Independence Army!"
Maurits narrowed his eyes, then switched to German with hostility. "I never expected a German like you to be involved in this rebellion."
Heinrich shrugged. "I merely follow my commander. He is the leader of this liberation."
"Commander? Who?" Maurits frowned.
Heinrich smiled faintly. "One year ago, he received an award from your governor."
He was giving Maurits a clue.
Maurits fell silent. His face changed as a name surfaced in his mind—a native officer with the rank of colonel whom he had always looked down upon.
"Soemarmo…" he hissed. "I knew he was a traitor!"
"Unfortunately, it's already too late," Günther interjected coldly.
Maurits stared at them and spat in disgust. "Europeans like you bowing to lowly natives. It's disgraceful."
Even in defeat, Maurits still clung to his pride—his pride as a European who had always looked down upon the natives of his colony.
Heinrich's face darkened instantly. Several Germans, including Günther and other former KNIL soldiers, shared the same grim expression. They began cocking their Gewehr 98 rifles, the sound sharp and venomous.
Stop.
Heinrich raised his hand to restrain everyone's anger, including his own. Then he replied in a cold, threatening tone.
"He is my savior. Without him, I would have died at Verdun or the Somme. Say that again, and I will make sure my men end your life."
Silence hung in the air.
Batavia had fallen. And the old world, together with its arrogance, was beginning to collapse forever.