Slowly I had become accustomed to the city of Berlin. During the day the near constant humming of aircraft circling above filled the air. At night no light escapes from the blackened and closed windows. It was difficult to adjust to the stark realities of the capital. Life was vibrant and fulfilling, the populace moving around as if the war was not occurring. Though the moment the sun began to set, the streets became deserted, and only the bravest of civilians dared to venture out. When they did, they did not walk, but sprinted between destinations.
The streets were not a safe place at night. Crime was not a major issue, and had seen dramatic reductions since the beginning of the war. Once the sunset, lights were extinguished and would not return until dawn – including headlights. The avenues of mobility became anything but; as most civilians had abandoned their vehicles in favor of walking or bicycles. At times my interest would be drawn to a civilian who would skillfully drive around the dozens of parked military vehicles and check points. The majority of vehicles I did see, where not the state-sponsored Volkswagen’s but rather the stylish, luxurious cars.
“Colonel, sir,” said a soft toned voice that carried a hint of love.
I withdrew from the dreamy state of watching out the window and turned to the origin. I smiled, “Yes, Rhiley?”
He turned his face away from mine and peered out the window into the blackness. He took a quick glance of no more than two seconds before turning his head back. “I believe we are here.”
I peered through the driver’s window as best as I could. “I believe you are right.” I reached for the black as night briefcase that resided in the backseat of the Kübelwagen. With it secured in the grasp of my arm I began to bring it forward and prepare for departure from the vehicle. My eyes stopped at my nephew, who had played an intricate part in the past few days; though he did not care to admit it. His father would be proud about the plan his son had set in motion; yet at the same time would be rightfully frightened by the action.
Rhiley’s innocence was a one to admire and made one wonderer what truly went on behind the veil he obviously put on. His eyes showed that he had progressed from those sullen days of Cherbourg; though I doubt he would ever return to normal in this current environment. He was not a soldier; nor a driver, though he took the latter more comfortably than the former. The mask he so cleverly kept intact hid him well, I could not describe what he truly wanted to be. At times he seemed never to be quite there; yet could accurately remember and describe what happened as if it were yesterday.
“Did you’re father ever tell you about the car he bought?” I asked trying to make the question sound rather random.
Rhiley’s face showed signs of bewilderment. “You mean the Volkswagen?”
I sighed. “He never told you then. I’m kind of not surprised.” I thought it over for a moment. “I guess I can share the story, since I am a part of it.” With those words Rhiley returned his hand from off the door handle to a more relaxed position.
“Well, Philip was just about to turn 3; you had already turned the month before. Alessandra’s second birthday was about a month off and Sebastian wasn’t born yet. You were all too young to remember,” I said with a wicked looking smile. “Has he shared much about our brother Anton?” I asked wiping the smile from my face, and in a more somber tone.
“Kind of,” he said after a long drawn out pause. “He is your older brother right?” Rhiley looked as if he was quickly flipping through a hundred pages in a scrap book, trying to find more memoires of his departed, never known in person uncle.
“Yes, he is our older brother. He died in the middle of the last war, at Verdun,” I added the last two words more somberly and cryptic than the preceding ones. “I recall those dark days; when both Anton and Josef were fighting in the war while I was at home, too young to participate. The tears mother and father cried that day still live to this day; and are shared. I did not bother to eat that night the news came, and don’t think I ate till after noon the next day. A week later the house was filled again with tears; but we did not mourn another death. Josef had sent us a letter, saying he was alive and well. It is…difficult,” I said trying to wrap it up before I would become too emotional.
Rhiley could notice I was holding my emotions in check, yet he did not interrupt. “Anton had always wanted to go to Berlin, us three as brothers,” and paused to cherish the memory I had elaborately crafted of what the trip would have been like with him there. “When you’re father and I returned from the war we didn’t feel right about going to Berlin, we said maybe next year. Nineteen-nineteen came and we did not go, for the memory was still too painful. We kept pushing the date back, hoping next year would be the year. We were prepared to go in June of 1923; yet the blessings that is life would delay the trip another year. Finally, we went to Berlin in 1926, the 8th year after Anton’s death.”
My nephew nodded in approval of the tale, he had never heard it. In his eyes I sensed that while interested, the story was intruding on important time. Indeed, there were matters at hand; we had driven through the darkened streets for a reason. “Rhiley,” I said before rethinking what I was about to say. “You’re father and I arrived to the city by train. When we returned, we arrived by car,” I said rather ominously.
He caught my drift. “Who bought the car?”
I smirked. “Technically, grandfather did as his signature is on the paperwork.”
“Who signed it?”
“You’re father,” I replied bluntly, not going with the option of saying Josef and I had dared each other to fake our father’s signature. We had had our competitions to forage our parent’s signatures when we were younger. Josef had always won hands down.
“So that’s where I get it.” He smiled at me which triggered me to nod in confirmation.
The First Impression
I was going to eventually become accustomed to walking up the steps of the guarded Reichschancellery. One of the many responsibilities as Chief of Staff of the Reserve Army would be my frequent visits to the helm of the Third Reich. I would be guided through the winding corridors, past the charade of victory and into the stuffiness of a conference room. Often the meetings were conducted by Keitel and Jodl, and on one rare occasion the Führer blessed us with his infamous tirade, before collecting his temper only to lose it a minute later. I had only seen him once since he provided initial approval of Operation Mūspilli.
Every time I maneuvered myself from the Kübelwagen, and slowly began the ascent to the peak of the mountain of madness, there was a feeling uncertainty. I wasn’t quite sure which sure which polar opposite emotion was more prevalent whenever I did this familiar dance. I could never rid myself of the thoughts that the climb would be my last for I would either be found as a traitor to the Third Reich summarily executed or caught up in some other fools plot to assassinate Hitler. Death, though impossible to avoid, is an experience that is best left until the individual has lived to accomplish satisfaction for what they have done.
The experiences of the Reichschancellery were never easy and were in fact compounded by company. My adjutant, Von Wren, was often by my side when we arrived. His experience within the conspiracy was vital; he was in essence a powerful force behind the scenes. His death though painful would not be the most excruciating to bear. On rare occasions, such as tonight, Rhiley had not only driven me to the gates of the hell, but he would venture through the circles with me. I would never forgive myself if I were to be the cause of my nephew’s death. I would be no better than the Nazis. There is no counsel in the fact that without Rhiley’s unique abilities with the pen, we would not be where we would at this very moment. With the stroke of a pen, he had elevated himself to equal status amongst us – all guaranteed certain death if caught. Yet, I had made a promise to safeguard him. A promise is meant to be upheld to the end, no matter how difficult it may become to honor agreed upon terms.
Through the main door of the Reichschancellery, any individual would confront a world that seemed beyond comprehension. On the outside, the city that contained the building was teetering with something close to life, and a sense of hope; however faint. On the inside it was a complete reversal. I witnessed several tables occupied over capacity, beer, and food amongst the fine dinner ware and resting heads graced the tables. Soldiers, regardless of rank, had their tunics loose and unbuttoned.
I had known this scene two decades prior, it was all too familiar. Our lines had been shattered, and we had just arrived an hour prior to a new position and a runner ran up ordering a status report to be delivered to headquarters. I accompanied the messenger back to regimental headquarters, a lavish looking cottage brimming as if no war had been going on. Upon entering the cottage, I rendered my salute and instead of receiving the expected response was offered to drink and feast to my stomachs content. I stood there repulsed as I was now, but unable to act. Through the corner of my eye, I could see a general surrounded by other officers drunk, washing their memories of yesteryear away as they had done back at scenes similar to the cottage.
Rhiley and I walked through the halls of decadence, unable to confront the situation. I looked back over my right shoulder futility; I knew it would be frivolous to rectify what we had seen. Since the incident in the cottage, over twenty four years prior, I had vowed to stand against what I had seen that very day. Yet, the situation required inaction. Here in the Reichschancellery, as in the cottage, I would have been rebuked and laughed away.
A mere two minutes transpired between the scenes of the entrance before we stood before a familiar door, which bore a gold-plated reading: ‘Adolf Hitler’. I had failed to recognize the guard that stood at attention. Directing my attention towards him, I saw no signs of alcohol present; he did not carry the stench of his comrades. I do not know if he wished to simply be a part of the drunken stupor of defeatism or perhaps he followed his duty to a letter.
“Colonel Schnack, you can proceed. You are being expected.”
I nodded at the guard while positioning myself to move. As I twisted the door handle with my left hand I motioned for Rhiley to remain back with the guard. Through the expanding area between the door and its frame, I could begin to make out a figure sitting behind the desk at the far side of the room. I briefly analyzed who it was and knew the man I was about to meet was not the Führer.
“Ah, there you are Herr Schnack. I have been expecting you for quite a while now,” he said in a voice that registered as beyond sinister and deep toned.
I continued to close the distance between the speaker and myself. As I came within ten feet of the desk, I watched as the man moved from behind the desk and rendezvoused with me barely four feet in front of the desk. His name escaped me; I had heard him mentioned at least once before.
“It is really a great honor to finally meet a living member of the heroic Schnack family,” he said, looking me straight into my eyes as he extended his right arm out for a handshake. Swallowing my discomfort and having been accustomed to the tale of my surname, I embraced his hand. Near instantly I felt the man try to exert a greater pressure on my own hand, only to quickly relent and loose his grip as I did not flinch.
The man took a few steps back, as I was still trying to place a name to him. “Herr Schnack, I do apologize for the misunderstanding. I know you expected the Führer, but he is rather occupied at the moment.”
“I completely understand,” I said trying to sound legitimately sympathetic. “Is there perhaps another time for when our meeting can be scheduled?”
The man’s eyes moved downwards as if he had an invisible copy of Adolf Hitler’s schedule in front of him. “Unfortunately, the Führer is rather busy for the next few days. Is it perhaps something I can assist you with?”
I struggled to take a normal breathe, what I was about to do was an enormous gamble. “Perhaps you can,” I began as I reached into the briefcase for the vanilla envelope carrying the intended to be implemented copy of Operation Mūspilli. “Here it is. The other day Hauptmann Lügner forgot to give me this document to deliver to the Führer. I figured during our meeting I would hand it to him.”
The man nodded. “What is in the document?”
“Orders that have already been approved the Führer, just minor revisions from the previous version.”
“I will make sure he gets it, Herr Schnack.”
“Thank you,” I began, before realizing I still did not know his name. I kept my mouth open as if I was going to say another word.
“My apologies Herr Schnack, the name is Martin Bormann, I am the Führer’s private secretary.”
“Thank you Herr Bormann,” I said while reaching my hand for a handshake. With the handshake completed I gracefully walked away from the battlefield as quickly as possible while appearing normal.
“Until we meet again, Herr Schnack,” said Bormann when I was three steps away from the door.
As I opened the door, I said in a lower than normal tone, but still audible, “It is Colonel.”
A State of Reality
Rhiley and I had made our way back to the war ministry that night and settled into non-descript rooms that contained a bed, a few books on a nightstand and nothing much else. The rest of the night and into the early hours passed without event until the sound of a knock at my door woke me. Sleepily I mustered underneath the covers fumbling to remember which arm the unimportant watch remained on. ‘Nine thirty three,’ I read, alarmed that I had slept in this late. I could not remember exactly when I had last slept in. I remember after I had returned to my parents from the first war, nearly a fortnight passed before I slept through a night without having the reaction to reach for my rifle or pistol.
Another knock came not even a second after I had registered the time. I delayed, trying to understand if where I was real. I felt stiff, and as if I had been transported back from another reality. “Uhh,” I garbled in a half grunt half spoken word.
The response did not foil another knock at the door, its volume increased tenfold from the previous. “Tristan,” softly said the female voice.
Without hesitation and at ease I dozed away. “Mom,” I replied, having finally gathered my whereabouts from the first restful sleep in ages. The door handle twisted causing it to become unlatched. My eyes gazed at my beautiful mother as she made her way into the bedroom, filling it with her magnificent grace and radiant light. “I’m so glad to see you mom,” I softly said with the biggest smile on my face possible.
She returned the smile as she came closer to the bed before sitting on its edge. “Good morning sweetie,” her smile growing in both beam and length. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” I said without delay or any tone to indicate otherwise. “I did not dream of the war.” I had often woken up every hour to two hours at most in a cold sweat, the images of seeing slain brothers fall before my eyes, artillery shells landing perilously close, and deathly screams ringing throughout my ears.
“That is good sweetie,” she reassured me as she ran left hand’s fingers through my crew-cut hair. “I am going to start making breakfast. Go ahead and rest some more, I will wake you when it’s ready.”
I watched as my mother got up from the side of my bed and walked out of the bedroom, the same one I had occupied before the war, and closed the door. Within a matter of seconds I had returned to sleep.
“Tristan,” said another feminine sounding voice. “Tristan,” repeated the speaker who I recognized as I woke up from a second sleep. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
I looked across the bed and saw my gorgeous wife, her hair worn straight down behind her back. Her beautiful, magnificently sized brown eyes looking down at about the foot of space between our bodies. I instantly recognized who the he she referred to was.
“Yes, our dear Philipp is beautiful,” I said as I stared at him, his little fingers tightly holding onto his little blanket my mother had made for his birth. “He has his mother’s eyes,” I smiled at my precious Christina.
She replied with a beaming smile of her own. “And his father’s hair.”
“For now, we will have to see if he keeps it.”
Her smile turned into a grin. “Ah, yes. How could I forget? My love is the one blonde haired person in his family for generations,” her fingers gracing the mentioned subject.
I slowly touched the forearm of Christina’s arm that was running through my hair, and ran my hand up to her shoulder before running it back down. Her hand and my hand meet above the sleeping beauty’s face. “I will always protect you, and Philipp.”
She leaned in for a kiss, which I anticipated and did not disappoint. “I know you will my love.” We kissed again. “I will take care of him for a few hours dear. Go ahead and sleep, you’ve been up with him all night.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes,” she said as she puckered her lips for a third kiss.
“I love you,” I said after the kiss. With the kiss over I lowered my head back onto the pillow and prepared for hopefully a few more hours of shuteye.
Before I closed my eyes I watched as Christina crept out from underneath the covers and gracefully picked up the unaware Philipp and cradled him in her arms. “Sleep well my love,” she said as she closed the door to the bedroom.
I closed my eyes and within seconds of the door closing and before a minute passed felt the unconscious state taking hold.
From the distance I could see smoke rising from a ruined panzer. It appeared to be heavily damaged, with at least two shells having penetrated its armor. It looked as if it had been ambushed, and did not stand a chance in hell against its opponents. I felt my legs compelling my closer to the ruined hulk of metal though my mind remained horrified and hell-bent on avoiding the scene. I could not overcome the divine-like control over my body, and soon recognized the tank.
“By God’s name,” I said aloud, though nobody else was around me. “That’s a panzer, Mark IV,” I paused, trying to remember the rest. “Ausf E or Ausf F1,” still not exactly sure I knew which variant was destroyed. I was still unaware of the differences between the machines of war our soldiers fought with, even though Sebastian had tried to inform me of the differences in letters.
The panzer’s hatch was open, indicating it seemed that the crew had tried to escape. The smell of death ruled out the fact that they had survived the ordeal and shared their vehicles fate. The stench of gunpowder, burning gasoline, oil, human flesh and hair, was unique, one that I had never had the pleasure to experience all at the same time during the first war. There is no sadness in admitting it; I had once become dehumanized to the reality that the carnage brought. I did not realize this until well after the end of the first war, and when the reality became manifested, I was horrified that I had become no better than a monster, one who did not seem to place any or little value on life.
I walked around the tank and noticed a crewman’s arm, most likely the gunner, was penetrating out of the hatch. My humanity turned on as I saw the first true signs of lifeless bodies. I did not pour out into open emotion, but grimaced at the thought that the entire crew had been slaughtered without even the remote chance of a fair fight. I rounded the corner of the tank, and broke into a sprint for three feet and fell to my knees and hands.
“Oh my…this can’t be!” The tears became like oceans from my eyes, violently pouring down my cheeks and crashing into the ground forming standing pools of water. “How in God’s name? Why!” I barely gathered the both the physical and emotional strength necessary to confirm what my mind already knew.
I fell to the side of the lifeless corpse, a handful of bullet holes in the chest. His panzer commander’s insignia still proudly displayed. I had failed. I had broken a promise. I had forgotten the stark truth, while embracing another. I was a father in name only.
I closed my eyes, and contemplated a thousand thoughts racing through as if trying to set a new land speed record. “Father, this does not have to happen. It can all be prevented. You must not hesitate, you cannot take no for an answer. You must be creative, and work outside and inside the structure. You must work secretly, but not alone. We cannot fail,” the male voice said before it faded and I blacked out from an overdose of emotion.
I felt like I had been asleep for hours on end before I woke up stiff but in a very familiar yet unusual setting. From the distance I could make out the buildings of Norddeich, hazed over by a late winter fog. I surveyed the surrounding for an adequate five minutes, waiting to spot anything I deemed unusual. After the sense of survival was satisfied, I began creeping between tree to tree, rock from rock, meticulously covering the distance between myself and the town’s outskirts.
Ten minutes passed before I had crept within ear shot of the town, and hid myself within a snow-filled ditch. I slowly raised my head up before halting its ascent as a voice pierced the cold air.
“Do you think he will show?” a deep voice said, sending shivers down my back.
The second response seemed delayed, as if was smoking or perhaps contemplating the thought. “The Colonel believes he will show, thus we are here.”
I watched the first guard nodded in agreement. “I hope the traitor arrives soon. It is cold out here.”
The second guard took long deep puff of the cigarette and eerily seemed to look over in my direction. Fighting off the urge to bolt, I stayed put. Death would be absolute regardless of the fact if I ran or confronted. “His fate is sealed, if he shows up now or later,” another long delay from the puff of his cancer. “If only he had been like the other traitors.”
“Yeah,” quickly replied the first guard, who began lighting up his own cigarette. He flicked the switch a few times, at first unable to get it going. “What,” he stopped, having have gotten a flame. “What were their names?”
“Uh,” replied the original smoker. “I can’t remember their names. I heard though they were family though; his brother, nephew and his own sons.”
I watched as the first guard’s jaw opened wide dropping the recently lit beacon in the night from his mouth. “How could it happen?”
“What?” asked the second, not understanding the entirety of the simple question.
“An entire family, an honorable one by all accounts betrays the Führer at his greatest moment?”
The second guard raised his shoulders shrugging. “That is the true question my friend.”
I stayed put for ten minutes after their conversation seemed to come to an abrupt halt. Slowly, I removed myself from the frigid ditch and crawled towards the tree line. There was a place perhaps five miles from the town that I could rest the night. I doubt anybody remembered about the old cottage once owned by a family long deceased. At this pace, I calculated it would take about two hours to reach the warmth of ruined stone.
Fifty Shades of Friendship
I was impressed, having judged the time from Norddeich to the remote cottage correctly. I had come to a halt about a hundred feet from the cabin, and hid behind some fallen trees, closely observing the area. From the chimney smoke rose, bringing about a sense of relief to one part of the mind yet causing a whole new sensation to another. The aroma of burning wood was near irresistible. My mind drifted from the cold snowy surrounding to the inner warmth of the flames. The sense of comfort spread over my entire body, further easing me along.
A sound of an attempted to muffle cough pierced the air; quickly dragging me back from the dangerous states of delusion. I peered over my right shoulder, before looking behind me better and my left shoulder. A breathe of reality sent chills down the spine. I blinked, and then blinked again. I could not believe it, before my very eyes stood the door of the cabin. It had all happened in a blur. The crunching sound of snow against the boots surely should have been heard. If the heavy breathing did not send out alarms, or the dark grey winter coat, surely I was alone, except for the expected loving hearts of Christina and Alessandra in the cabin.
With deep breathe the cold air penetrated and chilled the bones as I placed my hand on the door handle, preparing to plunge into an expected unknown. As I slowly pushed the door open, the brilliant and delightful illumination of fire brought a new sense of life. An overwhelming but rightfully pleasant aroma of burning wood and smoke tingled the nostrils as I took three steps into the cabin’s entry. This was home, a home away from home. Boots stomped against the entry rug, shaking off collected snow while gloves were removed into coat pockets that soon found its home on the coatrack.
The light shone in a familiar direction towards the kitchen and I placed one foot in front of the other. Unconsciously, even at a rested environment I found myself often walking in the military matter, unaware that my footsteps would often lead to a tremendous crescendo. At the entrance to the kitchen, mere sixteen footsteps from the entrance, the right foot extended as I pivoted on the heel performing a right face movement. As I brought the left foot to bear the new direction, I instantly halted in place at an unexpected sight.
“Ah, my good friend, I knew you would eventually arrive,” his voice all too familiar, his tone all too serious; there was no inclination that this was another of his often famed but dry practical jokes. “My dear Tristan, did I catch you by surprise?” He broke out into a deep chuckle that subsided after approximately six seconds. “Of course I did! Your reaction is priceless, frozen in time in fact!” He held in place his accustomed smirk.
I stood there paralyzed, frozen in time as so eloquently stated, horrified, thinking and praying that I would pass out at any moment. Before my hopeless eyes sat two beautiful women, their ankles and wrists bound together arresting them to their respective chairs. Their long brown hair still majestically flew from the obscuring black hoods placed over their heads. Though it would be hard to tell, their mouths were most certainly gagged but their ears would be left unobstructed. Behind them stood their captor, a person I had known since childhood. His hands rested on the inner shoulders of each woman, my dearest wife Christina and our lovely daughter Alessandra.
I tried to piece the picture together, dumbfounded that I had not solved it earlier. It all made perfect sense and was too obvious; which lead me to ignore the now evident cold hard truth. The current predicament was my own doing. I had brought other people into this mess; I had watched them die as I swindled myself out of harm’s way. I was a coward.
“Oh dear Tristan, I would have thought you would have seen this coming. Was it not obvious my friend?” I saw his eyes stare into my soul, though we did not make eye contact. “You can drop that stupid faced, it will not do you any good.”
I remained still, jaw feeling as low as the floor, eyes locked looking at Christina and Alessandra, blocking out the true traitors figure. Suddenly a shot rang out, penetrating the wall behind and to my left. I focused my eyes onto that of my friends.
“I knew that would snap you out of it, all too predictable.” He let out a small laugh that lasted barely two seconds.
“Erwin, Erwin…Erwin, how could you? My worlds stumbled still thawing from the cold shock.
“It was all too easy my friend. I have always and will always play both sides. I have done it since the first time we met as children.” He sighed. “I am intrigued yet infuriated you did not suspect as much earlier. Perhaps it is true then that we often overlook the flaws of family and friends.”
I held off from pouring into a field of tears. “What is in it for you?”
Erwin broke into another fit of laughter and slapped his right knee with his left hand. “I will give you that one for free my old friend. A pathetic question deserves an obvious answer; I am in it for myself. I can spare the grief of losing my family, I can mark my place in history, and I can become who I want to be. It is all a game of chance Tristan. The conspiracy’s plot had little hope of success and almost guaranteed death; the odds were stacked before you or I even intervened.”
“The Fatherland will still fall Erwin. Hitler cannot prevent it! His successors and lackeys are no better, and deep within your soul you know the truth. You have seen the same reports I have; you know what action had to be taken. You even led me into the path I have taken!”
Preissner laughed without the knee slapping action. “Always the pessimistic Schnack, it is not good for your health,” he said while tightening the already perfectly secured black gloves that covered his hands. “There is a possibility that deep down you may be right Tristan. Perhaps the Third Reich will fall, buried beneath the weight of its opposition, or perhaps victory will be snatched from the jaws of defeat. There is without a doubt though that a man who Germany his homeland will not be pleased with either outcome.”
The brief revelation surely was no more than a slip of the tongue for often tight-lipped friend. Preissner always carried an aura of subtlety at all times, if one knew him well enough or took time to study his mannerisms and words they would know his words and actions often had double meanings. “Either way, Erwin, it seems you know the outcome of the Führer. If he is to die either way, why seek to prevent his assassination at the current time?”
“I thought you already knew or could at least of guessed that by now Tristan!” Preissner sighed, his face becoming one filled with utter contempt and disappointment. “I told you the first question was free. The second question, which you have just asked carries a steep price; though it is not as harsh as the third and then final question that you will inevitably will spew from your mouth,” he spoke without much reservation hinting that he had practiced and rehearsed the moment, possibly even dreamt of the very moment he could utter those words.
“No,” is all I could mumble as I watched him hit his knee with his hand again. “No, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes my friend. Did you really think there was any other way? If it is of any consolation my friend, I have already made the difficult choice for you.” In the blink of an eye Erwin un-holstered his Luger pistol and aimed it at the intended target and price for my stupidity. Before my nerve impulses could react I watched the unseeing, unknowing target lurch forward from the impact of the bullet to the back of the skull.
“So ends the life of Fraulein Alessandra Bopp, the daughter of Tristan and Christina Schnack; the loving wife to her husband Heinrich Bopp, who had been led astray by his father-in-law. With her last breathe expires the last living chance of two families,” Preissner said delivering another well practiced eulogy.
I remained utterly still from the state of shock that had claimed my body. My foolishness had caused this. Yet though I knew I was responsible for the events occurring, I was unable to accept the consequences. The moment of solitude was broken by Preissner’s eyes piercing into my soul.
“Do not act so surprised and stupid, you knew this would happen.” I made eye contact with my daughter’s executioner and god-parent. I noticed he had secured his sidearm as fast as he and un-holstered it. “I will continue if that is alright with you?”
I slowly nodded, still struggling to hold back a flood of tears; though a few had escaped and raced down red cheeks before being swept away by trembling fingers. “Yes,” I said barely audible.
“I knew you wouldn’t mind,” he said while taking a deep breath. “Tristan, there is no easy way to say this, so I will drop the charade and speak the truth to you. Your actions, if they were fully implemented would only hasten Germany’s demise. Hitler cannot be removed without operating on the rest of the body. The rest of the body is dependent on the oxygen that Hitler has become. Virtually every member within his inner circle has become aliens to reality. If they were to take a breath without his approval, they would die as if on another planet.”
I nodded in understanding as the crack within the damn having been repaired. “What would you have done differently than Erwin?” I asked expecting retribution for what I thought was the third question.
“Ah, a brilliant question, one that will not cost you. It is simple yet difficult beyond the wildest dreams. The way to remove Hitler is to become him. That is the difficult part, becoming Hitler. He represents everything we despise, yet in order to rein in on the reign of destruction, one must master it. In order to master it, one has to become a favorite of the Führer, another not-so-easy task. There are numerous obstacles within the path into Adolf’s inner circle. There is without no doubt though, this is the path to successfully remove Hitler. That is what few before you have done,” he ended with an exciting tone in his voice at the end.
I figuratively stumbled, thrown off but thinking I possibly understood the last sentence. “How did you do it? Why didn’t you help us?”
Preissner had a wicked smile on his face. “What do the Americans say?”
I became further puzzled by his question.
“Ah, yes. I remember. Strike three and you’re out!” I watched as he reached for his sidearm and aimed at Christina. “I will make this painless; our friendship has at least mounted to that much.”
I felt myself stumble back one, then two steps. Another step quickly followed as I began to feel very faint. I felt my eyes began to blink more frequently, growing heavier with each action. I felt the weight of my body increase and I soon fell backwards with my head hitting the floor causing blackness to surround me. The game was over.
From afar I distantly heard the sound of knocking growing louder with each repetition. I felt blinded by a bright beaming light that emanated from large rectangular opening. Slowly I rubbed my eyes, with hands that felt stiff and heavy as stone.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice weighed down by an unseen yet very real feeling weight.
“Orders to begin Operation Mūspilli have been sent out from the Führer’s Headquarters,” said feminine sounding voice that sounded oddly familiar but I knew it could not be who I thought it to.