Panzer Soldier c-4
Page 16
Finishing the awards, for the first time, Hitler looked at Langer. For a moment the dullness left his eyes. He motioned for them to follow and reentered the subterranean bunker that served him as his personal haven.
Wolff and Langer followed. The children were led off to return to the battle. All but two would die in the next three days. Eyes watched them as they followed. One of those pairs belonged to Hitler's personal aide, who looked with mistrust at anyone too near his god.
Langer counted the steps down—forty-four. Inside, he could smell the mustiness that all concrete seems to keep forever wet, damp. Passing gray or moldy orange-colored walls, they followed. The fetid mixed smells of urine from backed-up toilets and sweaty uniforms and boots went with them. The hum of a diesel generator droned constantly, stopping only for a second when it was switched over, coughed and restarted.
Normally to go into the bunker one would have to go through an elaborate system of security checks, but Himmler's presence and the assignment to Wolff evidently served as all the authorization Langer needed.
They followed Hitler down the corridors and corners of his labyrinth. They stopped at a small conference room two doors down from Hitler's rooms and obeyed his beckoning finger to enter.
Hitler sat at the far end, his back to the wall. He didn't like people to be behind him.
Hitler had removed his greatcoat and sat in the familiar gray plain coat with the Iron Cross he had won in the First World War on it. He was a definite contrast to the peacock dress of his general staff, in particular, Hermann Göring. By his plainness he understood that he stood out in a crowd of brilliant uniforms and bemedaled chests. He was, as always, a master showman.
But now the play was ending and he was a tired old man. He thanked Wolff and told him to wait down the hall in the guard and switchboard room until he was sent for.
Obersturmführer Wolff clicked his heels and gave the Hitler salute. "Zum befehl, mein Führer," he said, as he obeyed, leaving the two men alone in the small room.
Hitler indicated for Langer to sit at the far end of the conference table.
His eyes foggy, he looked at the man opposite him for some time. His vision had been failing and he had to strain to keep things in focus, particularly in the dim light of the conference room.
"So you are the one we have waited for so long.
"Casca Rufio Longinus, soldier of Imperial Rome, gladiator and mercenary. It's somewhat ironic that you have ended up fighting for the Brotherhood. That's why we lost you for so long. It never occurred to us that you might be on our side in this war." Hitler laughed and coughed, his left hand holding his right to control the trembling in the arm.
"You know, I never really believed the story of you. But here you are. You really exist." Wonder touched the edge of his voice.
"I have naturally read all the reports of your physical description—the scars on your face and wrist. Show me your hands." The thin, ragged, circular scar encircling his left wrist brought a spark to dulled eyes. "It's really true." Hitler glanced at the clock on the wall. "I don't have much time. Tell me what really happened at Golgotha when Jesus died."
Langer spoke, trying to keep himself from strangling the madman. "What do you care about Jesus? I don't understand. He was a Jew, yet you kill Jews as inferior beings. Why should you have any interest? " He deliberately omitted the obligatory title of "Mein Führer" or even sir.
Hitler responded, "You really don't know? It's quite simple. We have definite proof that Jesus was not Jewish. He was of an ancient Aryan stock, the same as the pure blood of the German tribes. Jesus was not a Jew."
Langer laughed. "Then he could have fooled me. He was as Jewish-looking as I ever saw. Not like the paintings of him with light-brown hair and blue eyes. He was a small man with a large Semitic hook nose and bad skin. He was a Jew, but he died well. Will you be able to claim the same"—sarcasm touched at his words—"Mein Führer?"
Hitler refused to rise to the argument. "That you will see for yourself, Herr Longinus. That you will most certainly see for yourself.
"You know, you could do something about all those scars. They have learned some remarkable things about plastic surgery lately. You could have most of them erased." His mind wandered; then with a visible effort he drew himself back. Now he ordered him to tell him about the crucifixion. "I have to know."
Langer hesitated a moment, then decided, why not?
He turned on his mind, letting the past sweep over him, rushing, not conscious of his words as he let the past take over and let Hitler go with him to the Mount of Golgotha. To experience the storm of that hot afternoon, the sweat running down his legs. The priests of the Sanhedrin who came to mock the man on the cross. The moment when the storm was reaching its peak and he struck with his spear into the side of the man they called Messiah. Hitler felt in his words the feel of the Roman uniform, the rubbing of the leather against sore spots, the grating of sand in the sandals, the caligula.
He experienced, in Langers words, the final moment when Jesus looked on the man who killed him and spoke, the storm around them breaking, the wind screaming. "As you are so you shall remain until I come again."
Hitler wept.
Langer finished, breathed deeply. He didn't like this reliving of his past, it drained him. Hitler wiped his eyes with a linen handkerchief. "It's true, it's all true, you were there." Taking a gulp of air. Hitler composed himself.
Breathing deeply from the emotional exhaustion that had overcome him he spoke, his voice a little stronger than before. "Now I know all our work and sacrifices will not have been in vain. I will not have lived in vain. Everything is clear to me now. Thank you, Herr Longinus, or Langer, whichever you prefer. This moment has given me the will to do what must be done. You are free to go. But return to this place on the thirtieth of April. There will be something happening that you would not want to miss. My death."
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