“What is happening?” Rudi asked.
The SS guards ignored him until Rudi caught the eye of the younger of the two, a man no older than himself. He startled Rudi with a wink and smile. The mystery evaporated moments later when the architect of Blitzkrieg, General Heinz Guderian, entered followed by a smaller man in an ordinary uniform, Iron Cross pinned to his chest.
Rudi’s right arm involuntarily shot straight to the heavens, bellowing “Heil Hitler” in his strongest voice.
Adolf Hitler, Fuhrer of the German people and the promised thousand year Reich nodded, signalled for Rudi to relax. He managed to lower his arm but remained at attention, unable to be at ease in the Fuhrer’s presence.
“Good morning, Sergeant Kleime.” Rudi teetered as his name floated from the Fuhrer’s lips. Hitler reached for Rudi’s right hand, examining the bloodied bandages, fingers running along the uneven stains.
“Mein Fuhrer.”
“General Guderian informed me you destroyed a new type of Bolshevik tank, a monstrosity much larger than our panzers.”
“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer. It is called the KV-1.”
“Was it British or American?” The Fuhrer tilted his head as if Rudi’s answer would determine the course of the Russian war.
“I believe it was Russian, Mein Fuhrer,” blurted Rudi. “I captured an American near the tank.”
Adolf Hitler glanced at Guderian and then fixed his gaze back to Rudi, who teetered under the intensity of his blue eyes. “I have heard of this American mercenary,” said Hitler, as if no detail was beyond his knowledge. “Whether it was a Socialist, American, British or even French tank you destroyed it, Ja?”
“Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer.”
“Because you are of German blood and regardless of its size you willed yourself to destroy this tank!” Hitler’s voice rose. “We do not care how many or how big the Bolshevik tanks are, they are manned by an inferior race, unable to match the skill and courage of the German soldier.”
Rudi remained silent, afraid of interrupting the Fuhrer. Hitler turned to a colonel at his side and placed his hand out, palm open. The colonel placed a gleaming Iron Cross in his hand, Hitler unfurled the ribbon and motioned for Rudi to bow his head. He slid the ribbon over Rudi’s head then the Fuhrer of the German people announced, “Sergeant Rudolf Kleime, I award this Iron Cross, First Class for gallantry in the face of the enemy. The Fatherland is proud of your service.”
Rudi straightened his back and looked into the Fuhrer’s eyes. For a reason Rudi could never explain later, tears streamed down his face. The Fuhrer reached out and patted his cheek. “Sergeant Kleime, I too received an Iron Cross in the Great War. I know what it takes to be brave in the face of the enemy.”
The Fuhrer stepped back. Rudi’s arm shot into the air once again and bellowed with all his might, “Heil Hitler!” Hitler smiled and grasped his arm. Then the Fuhrer and his entourage were gone. Rudi was alone in the hot tent, somewhere in Russia.
The moment the sound of the entourage dwindled, Rudi collapsed on his cot, tears streaming down his cheeks. No matter what he had felt his heart sang, spirit rejuvenated with love for Germany and its Fuhrer Adolf Hitler. He was desperate to join his new unit, the 7th Panzer Division. He struggled to push his doubts aside, mind racing, body exhausted, the latter eventually winning the body and plunging him into a deep sleep.
French Betrayal (Reich Triumphant Book 1) Page 41
