by Ian Shimwell
“Because I don’t think The Führer would approve,” suggested Bormann.
“How is he today?” Schlecht asked.
“As well as can be expected,” Eva said vaguely. “We must have tea sometime. You look so much like…”
“Excuse us,” Eva was then quickly ushered away by Bormann.
Schlecht was in a bit of a daze after that strange meeting. He eventually found himself at the rear of Goebbels’ office. He was near an air vent and could hear voices. Standing on his toes, Schlecht could just see Goebbels and Waltz through the air holes. He strained his ears and listened.
“Bormann is starting to control things too much for my liking. Even I don’t get to see Hitler anymore. And why has this Schlecht suddenly arrived? Bormann is up to something. I must find out what.” Goebbels dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Don’t worry sir,” Waltz’s creepy tones could now be heard. “Schlecht trusts me – and I will use that to bring Bormann down.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Schlecht saw two SS guards approaching; he quickly adopted a normal posture and walked past the unsuspecting guards.
The next evening, Schlecht was summoned to a War Cabinet meeting. Around the long conference table, Schlecht was sat next to Bormann who was opposite the suspicious Goebbels. Why did he think Schlecht’s superior was ‘up to something’? Did Bormann have a secret agenda? There was an added air of expectancy amongst the many high-ranking Nazi officials around the table – and especially for Schlecht because Bormann had promised that The Führer would attend in person. So, with his heart beating a little faster, Schlecht looked longingly at the empty seat at the head of the table – expectantly waiting for Hitler to arrive.
Goebbels too was looking at the vacant chair. “Well, we can’t start without him,” he declared.
“I shall go and see if he’s ready,” Bormann said and left the Conference Chamber.
Waiting for The Führer, Schlecht looked at the magnificent portrait of Hitler that dominated the room. The penetrating eyes were almost hypnotic… A faint flicker of recognition shivered his soul.
Bormann entered but instead of bringing the Nazi Leader with him, he held some kind of microphone that had a long wire attached to it. Schlecht thought it looked like a BBC microphone that he had once seen on a newsreel some time ago.
“What is the meaning of this? Where is The Führer?” demanded Goebbels indignantly.
“Calm down, my friend, calm down. Are your many children keeping you up at night? Or is it Fräulein Goebbels?” A ripple of laughter journeyed around the room which Bormann evidently appreciated. He continued: “Fear not, but I am afraid that our leader is still weak and wishes to remain in his private quarters.” Headed by Goebbels, there was a rumble of protests but Bormann spoke over them. “He will speak to us through this microphone. It also has a short-range two-way transmitter so he can hear everything that is said too.” The grumbles were suddenly silenced.
Many items on the agenda were discussed. The increasingly depressing news on the war front meant that the Scorched Earth Policy was openly spoken of for the first time. Bormann and Goebbels squabbled on virtually everything – even on things that they agreed upon. While others, Schlecht perceptively detected could metaphorically feel the noose tightening around their necks as the shadows of hopelessness became gradually darker.
“Are there any other points of order?” asked Goebbels trying to wrap up the meeting.
“Just one,” stated Bormann. “The remaining Jews that are being ‘cared for’ in the Berlin Ghetto. Should they be abandoned to save resources, or should we accelerate The Final Solution?"
There was an audible, collective gasp as the wireless speaker next to the microphone suddenly crackled into life. The voice that spoke sounded faint and grainy but had undeniable power. Schlecht was certain it was the unmistakeable voice of Adolf Hitler.
“What is… The Final Solution?”
The War Cabinet erupted into laughter. Even Bormann and Goebbels shared the amusement. Before Schlecht realised it, the meeting had ended – and he was left alone with Bormann.
Quite suddenly, Bormann reached across the table and pulled the wire from the microphone and speaker until it snapped. “How loyal are you to Hitler?”
Schlecht replied sternly: “My loyalty to The Führer is absolute. I would give my life to the Third Reich without a seconds thought.”
Then I have a question for you,” stated Bormann conspiringly. “Would you like to become the new Führer?”
THREE
German resistance was nearing its end. General Zhukov had decided to abandon the stealth idea. He gave the order for the Red Army to storm the streets of Berlin. The order, ironically saved Wiltskoff’s life. Commander Sinsky however had promised that his execution ‘for the good of the revolution’ was only postponed and not cancelled.
The Russians did indeed sweep through the streets. The advanced party were virtually shot down by the snipers-in-hiding, but the overwhelming back-up of combat soldiers surged forwards and annihilated anybody and anything in their way. Zhukov’s gamble was a success. The surrounding areas were now theirs. Central Berlin was now within their sights.
Wiltskoff had been relegated to the rear. He and his fellow comrades just looked after injured Russians. Any German casualties were normally finished off with a butt of a rifle although Wiltskoff just ignored them.
After the remarkable success of the operation, Wiltskoff found a quiet spot near a half knocked-down wall, to clean his rifle and basically hide. He had hoped that the victory would have helped Sinsky to forget his promise to kill him. But, as a shadow loomed over him, Wiltskoff realised he was going to have no such luck. Sinsky was sneering down at him.
“On your feet,” the Commander shouted, making the inconsequential figure of Wiltskoff jump. “You are the most miserable excuse for a Soviet soldier I have ever had the misfortune to come across. If we were all like you, we would be either dead or speaking German.” As Wiltskoff struggled to his feet, Sinsky savagely pushed him back down. His gun was, once again, pointing at the small, short-sighted soldier of the Revolution. “You are incompetent, cowardly and can’t even see as far as your nose. I don’t understand why you were even chosen for this mission.” Sinsky’s cruel tones then changed to more dutiful ones. “For the Revolution…”
“No!” commanded General Zhukov just as he was about to fire. “Comrade Wiltskoff must not be harmed.”
Sinsky hesitated perhaps for a moment too long. The second seemed frozen in time, a second where Sinsky was going to kill the wretched fool – but instead his finger relaxed and he withdrew the gun. “But why comrade Zhukov? He has already been responsible for the deaths of several men through his blundering. He will put more lives in danger. We cannot afford to carry passengers. Let me kill him, please,” pleaded Sinsky hungry for blood.
Zhukov eyed his commander knowingly. “I repeat no harm must come to Wiltskoff whatsoever. He is absolutely vital to the mission.”
“In what way?” asked Sinsky curiously.
“All you need to know is that the order comes direct from Stalin,” added the General mysteriously.
Bormann’s unreal question stunned Schlecht. He stared at the Private Secretary disbelievingly but his backbone of loyalty began to bring some sense back to the situation.
“Herr Bormann, you speak of treason,” Schlecht solemnly spoke. “In the name of The Führer, Chancellor Adolf Hitler: I place you under immediate arrest, and will report this matter to Minister Goebbels.”
Bormann astonished Schlecht further by smiling and actually laughing. He clapped his hands in a mocking, bravado gesture. “And how Goebbels would love that.”
Schlecht put a restraining arm on the Secretary but Bormann pushed him away and said, “Before you do anything hasty, at least hear me out.”
Schlecht nodded. He was curious, if nothing else.
“Hitler is weakening by the day. His razor-sharp intellect; his
powers of memorising oration and sheer force of personality are all but gone. Of course, his views on Aryan supremacy remain unshakeable. But as our enemies enclose around us, we need a strong leader if the Third Reich are to stand any chance at all.” Bormann’s hand wiped his forehead as if trying to rid it of stress. “Hitler’s become that reclusive he rarely ventures out of his private quarters, in fact you haven’t even seen him yet.”
“All of this is true,” Schlecht said sympathetically, but added, “however it does not change a thing. I could never betray The Führer. I believe in him and the ideals of the Nazi Party totally.”
Schlecht was about to lead him away, but Bormann said quietly, “There is another reason.”
“I’m listening.”
“I am afraid you will just have to trust me. Report me to Goebbels if you feel that is what you must do. But if you decide to believe in me, I will tell you the real reason of my actions.”
Bormann closed his eyes and Schlecht simply said, “I’m sorry,” and left the Conference suit.
Schlecht was so preoccupied that he failed to notice Waltz skulking behind the door. He was smiling crookedly…
The bodyguard walked purposefully through the Führerbunker and stormed into Goebbels office.
Waltz had been hovering behind him, just out of sight.
Goebbels had been working on some papers. He looked up at the intrusion disapprovingly. He replaced his fountain pen, next to the ink well. “I know you are new but it is customary to knock in these parts,” the Propaganda Minister said dryly.
Schlecht then further irritated Goebbels by sitting down without being asked. “I apologize for my impoliteness but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
Dr Josef Goebbels’ skeletal features took on a faint amusement. “You have my full attention, Herr Schlecht.” How he wished that Bormann had put a foot wrong.
Schlecht drew a deep breath as if to give him the courage to impart his startling revelation. “Martin Bormann is a…” He hesitated and in that moment reflected upon Bormann’s plot: - ‘Me, the new Führer?’ ‘Hitler is weakening.’ ‘Third Reich needs a strong leader.’ ‘There is another reason, trust me.’ All these thoughts penetrated deep within Schlecht’s consciousness, creating pockets of confusion and doubt. In the end, he decided to go with instinct.
“Well come on man, I’m waiting.” Goebbels indicated to his many papers. “I am busy, you know.”
“Bormann is a… determined man.” Schlecht coughed slightly. “He insists the Scorched Earth Policy will be discussed further.”
“Bormann is a damned fool if you ask me. Now you have wasted enough of my time – you are dismissed.” They saluted, “Heil Hitler,” as Schlecht exited the office.
Waltz emerged from the shadows and shivered – and Goebbels said, “What is Bormann up to?” Waltz smiled.
Lost in his thoughts, Schlecht didn’t notice Eva Braun staring at him in the doorway to her room. I fact, he would have walked past if Eva had not called out his name.
“Won’t you join me for tea?” Schlecht hesitated so Eva added, “I have an announcement to make. I want you to be the first to know.”
“Why not,” shrugged Schlecht as he entered Eva’s quarters.
The room was sparsely furnished without any chairs. Somewhere embarrassed, Schlecht accepted the invitation to sit next to her on the narrow single bed.
“Well Fräulein Braun, what is the news you wish to impart?” Schlecht asked somewhat woodenly.
Eva held his hand. “Eva please, Karl. And the wonderful news is that my fräulein days are almost over because tomorrow I am to marry my beloved Adolf.”
For some reason, Schlecht couldn’t feel happy for her. “Congratulations,” he said. His eyes were drawn towards the bedside table. On it, he saw a small framed photograph of a very young, dark-haired, innocent-looking girl. “Who’s that?”
Eva answered with disdain. “Adolf must have forgotten it – it’s ‘sweet’ Geli, his late niece.” To dismiss the subject she laid the picture face-down. She sat closer to Karl and deftly placed her hand on his leg. “Which means this is my last day of freedom.”
Schlecht was having some sort of hot flush. Eva was undeniably a sensual woman – but she belonged to The Führer. Nodding towards a side-door he said, trying to convince himself: “I am loyal to The Führer and besides – he must be resting in the adjoining room.”
“Trust me, Adolf will be in a deep sleep until later this evening.” Seductively, she rubbed his thigh. “I am yours. Take me or leave me.”
His senses were being aroused; Schlecht was once again in a quandary. He had already betrayed Hitler by not reporting Bormann’s spurious suggestion. Could he commit the ultimate sin and take The Führer’s mistress? Again, as with the other dilemma, he let instinct take over. He met Eva’s luscious lips and made love to her with a frenzied passion. His suppressed feelings flowed with the torrents of desire.
There was an intense silence in Bormann’s office. Schlecht seemed preoccupied, even dazed so Bormann made his considered, opening move. “Where have you been, Schlecht?” he asked with the merest touch of irony. “I’ve been looking for you for the past hour or so.”
Schlecht paused. He could not believe where he had been – and what he’d done – too. “I’ve been err thinking… in the garden. After all, I have had a lot to think about.”
“And did you think to report me to Goebbels?”
“I thought about it – but didn’t. You said there was another reason for me to succeed Hitler. I want to hear it, before I decide.”
Bormann smiled crookedly. “So you are curious. In many ways I would never had thought it.” With clinical consideration, he looked long and hard at the bodyguard’s questioning brow. “As I have already said, The Führer weakens each day. Sometimes only listening to that crazy ‘quack’ of his. He is ill – and not just physically. He wants to implement the Scorched Earth Policy that would simply destroy Germany’s infrastructure. In days rather than weeks, the Allies will overrun Berlin.” He spread his arms. “Even we won’t be safe – here in the Führerbunker.”
The argument was a good one, but Schlecht could tell he was still holding something vital back. “The reason?”
“V2 rockets – you’ve heard of them?” snapped Bormann unexpectedly.
“Of course, what of them?” dismissed Schlecht.
“They are really Hitler’s last gamble. Long-range missiles that can cause considerable damage. But not enough. The German Armed Forces, the people – the Nazis are about to be defeated. There isn’t time for rockets to take any kind of strategic effect.”
“Then the War will be over – we have lost.”
Bormann’s blue eyes sparkled. “Not necessarily so. Using plans stolen from the Americans – the last surviving factories are ready to install nuclear warheads to the missiles. The new ‘V3’ rockets would decimate whole countries. The Third Reich could still win the war – but Hitler refuses to even listen. He has even forbid the use of the warheads. It pains me to say it – but he has simply lost the plot.”
“Then how do I succeed our once great leader; to launch the V3 rockets – to lead the Nazis to victory?” Schlecht was now lost in his own dreams of glory.
Bormann suddenly stretched over the desk and snatched Schlecht’s gun from its holster. He handed a shocked Schlecht his polished revolver back handle-first.
“You must kill The Führer.”
FOUR
The mission was nearing its end. German resistance was broken, Berlin was theirs. General Zhukov looked across the street at the Chancellery. He turned to Sinsky. “The destination of our mission,” he grandly indicated.
“The German New Chancellery?” the Commander enquired.
“No, the Führerbunker that lies beneath it. The last of the Nazis are skulking about in there like frightened rats.”
“So our mission is to storm their lair,” realised Sinsky.
Zhukov raised an eyebrow. “S
urprisingly aptly put comrade, but no – not quite right. A section of my troops will easily take care of the bunker. Our mission is of a more personal nature.”
No one was really near them, but an eager Sinsky edged closer anyway. Throughout this long, hard war of attrition, the General had often displayed a distant, sometimes contemptible attitude towards him but now, at last, he had gained his trust and possibly his respect. Because he was about to take him and only him into his confidence.
Zhukov cleared his throat either because he just had a throat irritation or maybe just for effect. “Our secret mission is to intrude upon Hitler’s private quarters. We are to capture or kill the Nazi Führer. We are about to write a new chapter in history.”
Head tilted upwards, Sinsky gazed proudly. “Comrade, I am honoured to be chosen for such a mission. So it’s just me and you.”
“…and Wiltskoff,” the General smiled smugly.
Sinsky found he couldn’t speak. He turned to look at Wiltskoff walking along a nearby pavement who then tripped and fell flat on his face. Sinsky closed his eyes in bewilderment.
Schlecht was sat on a basic wooden form in the middle of a simple garden that consisted mainly of a small lawn and a few wilting shrubs that had emerged from the creeping weeds. At least he could see the sky but even that was full of the thick black smoke of defeat. He hadn’t slept much last night, thinking over and over again of killing Hitler. Could he do it – even if it was to save the Third Reich? He grinned. The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped him. He had been assigned to protect The Führer – not kill him.
“A penny for your thoughts.” Waltz had seemingly slithered in from nowhere, and sat next to him on the form. “Troubled are we, have a lot on our minds?”
“Do ‘we’ have something to say?” Schlecht was in no mood for games.
“Very well then,” whispered Waltz. “A little bird has told me, you and that bore Bormann are plotting to overthrow our beloved Leader with some ridiculous notion of you being the next Führer.” His mocking smile displayed open contempt. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong.”