by Trevor Hoyle
Your loyal—
Hermann Goering.
I led the Führer to a chair and he sagged into it like a puppet whose strings have snapped. His eyes were glazed and rivulets of sweat, shining on his neck like slug’s trails, had soaked into the collar of his shirt. I ordered one of the adjutants to fetch my bag and waved the others back to give him air, chill and stuffily damp as it was.
He raised his head and his slack wet mouth worked uselessly. I told him to remain calm and not to excite himself further, but he would insist, through pale tight lips, on attempting to speak.
‘Hermann Goering has betrayed both me and the Fatherland,’ he croaked hoarsely. ‘Behind my back he has plotted to usurp the authority vested in me by God and the German people. His action is a mark of cowardice.’
‘Mein Führer—’ I started to say.
‘And against my orders he has sent me a disrespectful message, saying that I once named him as my successor, and that now, since I can no longer rule from Berlin, he is ready to rule from Berchtesgaden in my place.’
‘Do not upset yourself,’ I said soothingly, filling a syringe with 50 mg. of dextromoramide mixed with 4 mg. of dihydromorphinone hydrochloride, a preparation of my own concoction that is the only thing these days that seems to have any effect on him. I shot the full load into his arm and he didn’t even wince. ‘Calm yourself,’ I said, wiping a trickle of blood from the puncture hole. ‘It isn’t important enough to work yourself into a tizz.’
He choked and the muscles in his face went rigid. His bloodshot eyes, I noted, were filled with moisture.
‘An ultimatum!’ he suddenly screeched at the top of his voice. ‘A crass ultimatum! Nothing now remains, nothing is spared, no loyalty is kept, no honour observed. There is no bitterness, no betrayal that has not been heaped upon me – and now this! It is the end. No injury has been left undone!’
‘Yes yes,’ I consoled him, patting him on the shoulder. ‘It really is a crying shame.’
*
The ceremony took place at 2.40 in the morning on 29th April. It was a simple affair, held in the map room adjoining Hitler’s study, officiated over by somebody in the uniform of the Volkssturm and attended by several people including Goebbels, Bormann, myself and two secretaries.
As she was about to go through from her bedroom Eva caught my arm and hissed under her breath, ‘I never thought it would go this far. You never mentioned marriage. I’m stuck with him for life now!’
‘You make it sound like for ever.’ I smiled, squeezing her left buttock. ‘Life can be long or life can be short.’
Eva frowned at me and I gave her a broad wink.
As she was signing the register the bride was about to write ‘Eva B—’ She glanced at me from under her eyelashes and crossed out the B and wrote instead ‘Eva Hitler, née Braun.’
Berlin, 1st May, 1945
I cannot believe it. It isn’t true. The whole thing is as topsy-turvy as a fairy-tale.
Who should suddenly appear in the Führerbunker this morning but Nicolaus von Below, Wehrmachtattaché (Luftwaffe) on a mission of the most vital importance. He had piloted a Focke-Wulf 190 from Rechlin, dodging Russian fighters and surviving an intensive air barrage on the way, and managed to make Gatow, the last remaining Berlin airfield in Allied hands. At Gatow he had commandeered a light training aircraft and flown into the city at tree-top level, intending to land in the Wilhelmstrasse, within walking distance of the Chancellery. Hit by Russian anti-aircraft fire above the Grunewald, he had sustained a wound in the right shoulder but had succeeded in landing the aircraft and making his way to the Bunker through the ruins of the Reich Chancellery.
I was attending the Führer when he was admitted, giving him the first of his eight daily injections; Eva was there too, still in her night attire, and the three of us were taken aback by von Below’s miraculous appearance, out of the blue as it were. His wounded arm had been hastily dressed and put in a sling and even so he made a commendable attempt at saluting with his left hand, snapping to attention and clicking his heels, which brought a spasm of pain to his face.
The cerebral stimulant I had just administered to the Führer was beginning to take effect, overcoming the chloral hydrate which allowed him to snatch a few hours’ sleep, and he sat up on the bed, his dulled gaze seeking out the newcomer. I propped him up with pillows and wiped a smear of saliva from his chin.
‘Mein Führer!’ began von Below, staring fixedly ahead at the concrete wall. ‘This is a great and glorious day for the Fatherland. I b-b-bring you tidings of great joy: the salvation of the Reich!’
‘Yes, very well,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘Get on with it.’
He was struggling to extricate an envelope from his inner pocket, making heavy weather of it due to his injured arm and shoulder.
I sighed ponderously. ‘Come along, we haven’t got all day.’
‘This message—’ von Below said, at last pulling it out ‘—this message has been entrusted to me b-b-by the—’
‘Good God, man,’ I said peremptorily, ‘can’t you even speak properly? What’s the matter with you, are you a cretin?’
He shook his head. ‘N-N-No—’
‘Then get on with it, get on with it! The Führer is waiting.’
He handed the envelope to me and I opened it. Inside there was a single sheet of flimsy grey paper, unheaded, containing perhaps a dozen typewritten lines. I held it in front of the Führer’s face and he stared at it uncomprehendingly for several moments.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, glancing at Eva. ‘I think he’s gone again.’
‘Give him another shot,’ she said. ‘A big one.’
‘I’ve just given him double the usual dose. He should be leaping around like a spring lamb.’
Eva groaned. ‘Anything but that; he might start getting ideas.’
I crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball and stuck it in my pocket. ‘You’d better give it to him direct,’ I told von Below. ‘He’s forgotten his reading glasses.’
‘The Führer wears glasses?’ he said, astounded.
‘The message?’ I suggested, very softly. ‘Could we possibly, do you suppose, hear the message?’
‘Oh yes.’ Von Below clicked his heels. ‘Mein Führer! I have the proud honour to inform you that at long last, after many years of patient and dedicated research by German scientists, the Atomic B-B-Bomb is now at the service of the Reich. All difficulties have been overcome and the wonder weapon is at this moment capable of being delivered to any point on the globe and successfully d-d-detonated. I have been commanded by General Koller, Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe, to inform you that the Bomb is on board an aircraft which is standing b-b-by awaiting your instructions. With mid-flight refuelling we have an unlimited range of operation. General Koller only wishes to know the t-t-target you have selected for the first atomic explosion in the history of the human race.’
‘Is that it?’ I inquired. ‘Have you done?’
‘My mission is c-c-completed,’ von Below said, saluting and clicking once more. ‘Heil Hitler! God save the Reich!’
‘He does go on, doesn’t he?’ Eva said, filing her nails.
‘Did you hear that, mein kleiner Misthaufen*?’ I said, waving my hand in front of the Führer’s face. ‘We have the Bomb. The B-O-M-B. We can drop it anywhere we like. Pick a city.’
Hitler suddenly jerked upright and a gob of mucus fell on the bed. He was looking into the top corner of the room with absolute concentration, no doubt seeing glorious visions of the thousand-year future.
‘Historical Necessity and Justice,’ he said in a high tremulous tone, so unlike his normal voice that I looked round to see who was speaking. Eva raised her eyes to heaven and carried on filing her nails.
‘We shall win through to ultimate victory,’ the Führer continued, a semblance of colour returning to his cheeks. ‘German science and German might shall triumph in the end. We are indestructible!’
Von Below, it seemed, was fired
by this outburst, for into his eyes came a gleam of fanatical zeal. ‘Picture it, mein Führer, the charred, b-b-bodies and the creeping radiation sickness. C-C-Cancer of the blood cells for generation after generation. Babies deformed in the womb. A race of mu-mu-mutants with bent limbs and twisted brains. An entire land, an entire people, reduced to crawling subservience. The establishment of a truly Aryan m-m-master race!’
Hitler was nodding, spittle drooling from his lips (Apropos of this, I’ve often noticed that when he talks a dry whitish powdery substance forms at the corners of his mouth, as though his body was excreting poison of some sort. Most odd.)
Now the Führer was burbling to himself, von Below leaning forward and straining to catch the mumbled wisdom of the greatest military strategist of all time, the Messiah of the German people, Godhead of the Teutonic Soul.
‘Ho-hum,’ Eva said, patting her curls into place in the mirror.
‘Thank you for delivering the message,’ I said to von Below. ‘Most courageous and loyal of you. The Führer, as you can see, is delighted. You will be suitably rewarded. Good day.’
Von Below tore his eyes away from the Führer and stared at me. His jaw went up and down. ‘B-B-B-B-B-But—’
‘Thank you so much,’ I sang out. ‘There’s the door. Nice of you to call.’
‘B-B-But the B-B-Bomb,’ he stuttered, looking at me, then at Hitler, then at me again. ‘General Koller is awaiting the Führer’s instructions. We must d-d-decide on a target and issue an ultimatum at once. There is no t-t-time to lose.’
‘And no time will be lost,’ I assured him. ‘But as you can see, the Führer is rather overcome at the moment. When he has rested and his mind has cleared he will be much more able to make a sensible decision. We mustn’t rush these things.’
‘But General K-K-Koller is wai—’
‘Are you questioning the medical advice of the Führer’s personal physician?’ I asked, thunderstruck. ‘Are you prepared to gamble with the Führer’s life? Is this treason I hear? Are you insane? Do you want to be put in front of a firing-squad?’
‘No, no.’ Von Below retreated a step or two, his eyes blinking in alarm. ‘I didn’t realize.’ He saluted and clicked his heels. ‘Forgive me, mein Führer. My abject apologies. I shall wait outside for your d-d-decision.’ He turned to go.
I said, ‘You will leave the Führerbunker at once and return to Rechlin. Frau Junge will see to it that you have a packed lunch to take with you.’
Von Below gaped at me. ‘F-F-F-Fly back? To Rechlin? But how?’
‘The same way you came. Over the Russian lines.’
‘I will be shot down. There is a solid wall of anti-aircraft fire surrounding the city.’
‘You got here,’ I pointed out, not unreasonably I thought.
‘But I had a fighter escort as far as Gatow. They diverted the b-b-barrage but even so I was hit. It will be madness to return. Suicide.’
‘Nevertheless you must leave immediately,’ I informed him. ‘It is the Führer’s wish that you report back on the success of your mission to General Koller. Tell him that everything is in hand.’
‘I heard the Führer say nothing to that effect.’
‘He whispered it. You were busy saluting at the time and didn’t hear him. Good-bye.’
‘B-B-B-B-B—’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘Bye.’
When he had gone I patted Hitler on the head and said, ‘There we are, kränklicher Knose*, all taken care of; nothing to worry about.’
‘New York,’ he croaked, staring into the corner of the room, his breath coming faster. ‘We will devastate New York as a warning.’ He turned his gaze slowly towards me. ‘Summon Sturmbannführer Guensche. I wish to dictate a message, top priority.’
‘He is already here.’
‘Good, all is well,’ Hitler murmured. ‘Guensche!’
‘Yes, mein Führer.’
‘Send this message, top priority, to General Koller.’
‘Yes, mein Führer.’
‘Instruct him to detonate the Bomb over New York without any warning whatsoever to the military or civilian authorities. When this has been carried out I shall require immediate confirmation so that I can issue an ultimatum. Is that perfectly clear?’
‘Yes, mein Führer.’
Hitler’s grey haggard blotchy features relaxed into something that might have been a smile. ‘When they realize that we possess the ultimate weapon there will be no alternative left open to them but total and abject surrender. It is Historical Necessity and Justice.’ He jerked his head, almost in the old manner. ‘Guensche: send the message to General Koller without delay.’
‘Very good, mein Führer,’ I said, clicking my heels.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Eva said, ‘he’s completely over the top. Lock him up and throw away the key.’
I opened my bag and took out a 500 mg. bottle of trichlorethylene and a gauze pad. I soaked the pad in the solution, holding it well away from my face, and returned the bottle to the bag.
Eva frowned at me through the dressing-table mirror. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just something to relax him. His nerves are on edge.’
‘What an awful smell,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.
‘It is rather strong,’ I said, ‘but extremely effective.’
I pushed him back against pillows and held the gauze pad to his face. His bloodshot eyes, the broken blood-vessels like cracks, stared straight at me for what seemed a long time, without fear or panic, and then crossed. The lids drooped and closed. He didn’t struggle or twitch a muscle. I kept the pad there a while longer and put it away in my bag.
‘Is he out?’ asked Eva.
‘Like a baby.’
‘Thank God for that.’ She was humming to herself and examining the lines round her eyes. ‘He bores the arse off me, Theo.’
‘He bores the arse off most people,’ I said, taking the Luger automatic pistol out of the bag and checking the clip. Eva was preoccupied with her face and didn’t pay any attention as I put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and with my other hand arranged the pillows over the top in a kind of soft white mound, like a snow castle, and pulled the trigger. There was a low dull thud, not terribly loud, and a few feathers flew into the air and floated about.
Eva turned and looked at me. She looked at the door. She said, ‘Did …?’
I smiled and shook my head. ‘Nobody heard.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘Of course he’s fucking dead,’ I said, withdrawing my arm from the mound of pillows and dropping the pistol on the bed. The barrel was smeared with bits of red and grey stuff. ‘What do you think I used, a pea-shooter? The back of his head’s gone.’
‘Oh Theo,’ she said, running to me. ‘Theo.’
‘It’s all right,’ I calmed her, stroking her shoulders, ‘they’ll think it’s suicide. I’ll make it look that way. No need to worry or get upset.’
‘I’m not upset. I’m not.’
I patted her and smiled reassuringly. ‘Just take this.’ I reached down into the bag and took out a vial containing a dozen bluish-coloured capsules. Eva at once looked frightened. ‘Don’t be afraid, there’s no need.’
‘What are they? What are they for?’ Her breathing was light and fluttery. She was staring at the vial.
I led her across to the small sofa and we sat down. ‘Now listen carefully. These capsules are a mild extraction of cocaine. When you take them you will lose consciousness for, oh, a couple of hours or so. While you are unconscious I will tell Guensche, Kempka and the others that you and the Führer have taken your own lives. However—’ I held up my finger ‘—I will make an attempt to revive you by using Ultraseptyl and of course I will succeed. In that way they can’t blame you for having survived when the Führer has perished. It will not be your fault that the drug didn’t act swiftly enough.’
‘Oh Theo, do I have to?’
‘Of course you have to. How else can we explain the situation to them? And just
think, mein kleines Entchen*, think of it – from tomorrow we shall always be together, you and I. Always and for ever’!
Eva pressed herself to me and I could feel her body trembling. She said, ‘Love me, Theo. I need your strength.’
‘There will be plenty of time for that later. We shall have all eternity together.’
‘You must love me now, then I’ll know that you truly love me. Please, Theo!’
So I had to curb my impatience and waste precious time making love to her on the sofa. The fabric made my knees sore. I knew that any minute Kempka or Linge or one of the others might decide to inquire if the Führer was in need of anything; they would not enter unless bidden but even so their suspicions might be aroused. Anyway, I thought, what the hell. What would a few minutes more matter to destiny?
We pumped away and sweated at it for a while and turning my head and brushing her damp hair out of my eyes I could see the mound of pillows speckled with red, the ones near the bottom soaking it up like dark heavy wine. The Führer’s legs stuck out at ridiculous angles, the feet splayed, and I recalled that he always was flat-footed.
Eva clung to me and whimpered as I released myself inside her. She laid her head on my chest and told me she loved me.
‘I love you too,’ I said, looking at my watch.
‘How did you get this?’ she asked. ‘Is it a birthmark?’ She touched the faint scar below my left shoulder, the pale indented tissue like that of a brand. ‘You’ve never told me what it is or how you got it.’
‘A memento of long ago. Nothing important. I’ll tell you all about it some other time.’
‘Oh I do love you, Theo.’
‘So you keep saying.’ I pushed her away and sat up. ‘Now you must take the capsules, there isn’t much time.’
‘How many must I take?’
‘All of them,’ I said, emptying the dozen capsules into the palm of my hand. She took them, one by one, washing them down with water, and I laid her on the sofa, arranging her limbs neatly. Three tablets wouldn’t have done her much harm, five would have knocked her out, but all twelve would produce a toxic effect of palpitations, vomiting, convulsions, rapid pulse rate, circulatory collapse, crawling of the flesh, and eventually death. The whole process took about ten minutes.
