April 30, 1945
It was the tenth day after Hitler's birthday.
Artillery shells rained down on Berlin—the Soviet Army's belated birthday greetings.
Hitler did not accept the gesture. Meters of thick concrete filtered the roar into a muffled thunder of a greeting card stuffed into his ears.
{In the dimly lit bunker, Eva Braun swallowed the cyanide.}
And he pulled the trigger.
—Click
The smell of blood did not spread across the floor as imagined.
The bullet jammed.
The icy sensation caused his tightly squeezed eyes to snap open, his murky blue pupils staring at the Walther PPK pistol.
He pulled the trigger several more times without hesitation.
—Clank
While adjusting the grip, the bullet that should have ended his fate discharged.
A hole appeared in the wall.
Under the gaze of the portrait of Frederick the Great, a large, brightly lit elevator appeared on the wall.
Eva…
He lifted Eva's convulsing body and pressed his face against hers.
The smell of disinfectant wafted and enveloped the 56-year-old man.
The Führer dragged one foot on the ground, inching Eva forward.
He couldn't carry her anymore…
{Eva's body stopped convulsing, and the Führer closed her eyes.}
"Führer, are you alright?" It was Speer's voice from outside.
The Führer ignored the voice outside. He clasped his left hand with his right. Abdominal pain stimulated his nerves as he vaguely stumbled into the depths of the elevator.
Half an hour later.
The guards outside were pacing back and forth.
"We must confirm."
The voice belonged to Martin Bormann, Chief of the Party Chancellery.
He and the guards entered the Führer's room first, followed closely by Goebbels.
Eva lay in a chair, her high heels tumbling onto the wall with the portrait of Frederick the Great. On the desk lay half-used injectables of Pervitin and Eukodal.
Goebbels: "There is the smell of gunpowder, but the Führer… Where is the Führer? You entered first…"
Bormann: "I don't know, the Führer is gone…"
Goebbels suddenly dashed to the door and locked it.
Bormann, Goebbels, and Otto Günsche.
Goebbels pressed Eva's carotid artery.
Bormann stared fixedly at the bullet hole, then scanned the room. He said nothing.
Otto Günsche blocked the doorway—even though the room had no windows.
The Führer is gone…
Martin Bormann left first.
The Führer is dead…
In the late night of April 30th.
They did not turn on the lights.
Goebbels was sleepless, and so was Bormann.
They flanked "Hitler," escorting him.
Goebbels decorated the body, wrapped in white cloth, with medals.
Otto Günsche poured gasoline…
The founder of the Berlin Olympics, the man who tore up the shackles of the Treaty of Versailles, the Führer of the German Third Reich—Adolf Hitler—
was burned to ashes, along with the documents.
On May 1st, the German radio, authorized by Goebbels, announced Hitler's death—"fallen in battle against the Soviets."
On May 2nd, Soviet soldier Sablin rushed into the core area of the Führerbunker. He burst into room after room, clearing out trophies from the German devils.
He had captured the best spot!
He found Goebbels' body. He and his family lay side by side on the bed.
Sablin gave this credit to his comrade.
He wanted to be the first to find the final answer.
He knocked on the innermost door with his rifle. He entered the room.
Nothing?
His comrades found the Iron Cross medals and officers lying on the ground.
But Sablin found leftovers and a painting.
Sablin pulled the trigger at the painting. The Führer wearing a tricorn hat fell to the ground.
After the war, those picture frames, whether the tricorn or the silver ones, were wrapped in Nazi flags and dumped into pits.
Burned to ashes.
Berlin was shrouded in smoke, but a sharper smell wafted down to Sablin's unit.
"Did Hitler run away?"
"I heard the Americans aren't in a hurry. They are rushing to the Alps…"
Another Soviet soldier in red-piped trousers tore up a propaganda flyer for the Alsace Fortress.
Their eyes scanned every district of Berlin!
Every house from the Oder to the Elbe!
From the abandoned harbor of Memel to the fortress of Silesia!
The Führer who rose to power through rhetoric and the whip, the chief culprit of World War II, the executioner of Europe—Adolf Hitler—was gone!
The elevator was rising or descending, nobody knew.
The Führer took off his silver cap.
Rcemtetren—the sound of the swan.
In the bunker, he often thought of the Steiner offensive, that great offensive akin to the Napoleonic Wars.
The maps in the bunker often chuckled, biting their fingers.
This time it was merely changing locations…
The old man slumped against the elevator door. He couldn't get out and had nowhere to go.
Sweat glistened on his forehead. It grew hotter. His fingers were tainted with the bitter taste of Eva.
Before the old man fainted, the elevator was silent, but he did not perceive it that way.
The geometric elevator flashed with cold light,
shining on the old man…
Klang—
In Germanic legends, a hero wearing a silver helmet would descend from the sky on a swan to save mankind.
Now, Hitler was about to descend from the sky, riding the hero with the silver helmet…
Wenck, hide the silver helmet…
Steiner, stand still and cover your eyes…
Weidling, lean against Hitler's back and unload the magazine…
Would anyone descend from the sky now?
Ah—Gott mit uns! (God with us! / God save Germany!)
The elevator jammed midway, startling Hitler awake.
Then, the elevator shot forward, carrying Hitler.
Bang
The elevator door flew open.
Darkness is not terrible; the terrible thing is the one who fears the darkness.
The old man slapped and gnawed at the elevator door…
The Führer stopped moving.
A black mist stirred…
It carried the Führer into a pitch-black void.
Leaving behind only a pair of blue eyes…
Note:
According to Albert Speer's 1945 recollections, the old man often cried with a strange half-smile in the bunker and bit his fingers.
In historical reality, Albert Speer left the bunker on April 23rd. The author included him for narrative needs and word count padding.
It was definitely not carelessness~