Chapter 1: The Führer Wakes Up
A "clatter" sound—the crisp noise of a cup hitting the floor—woke Hoffman up. He found himself lying perfectly fine in bed; where was his grandfather's shadow? Reaching out just now had only knocked the cup off the nightstand.
Where was this? He warily scanned his surroundings. Had he been sent to a hospital? But the layout didn't look like a hospital room. He struggled a bit, seeming to have no obvious discomfort. Before he could figure out what was going on, a man in a white lab coat hurried in and exclaimed in surprise: "Führer? You've finally woken up?"
"Who are you? How did I get here?" Hoffman scrutinized the other person. Although the man was wearing a white lab coat, the furnishings here were not the typical style of a hospital; it looked more like a room in the Eagles Nest.
"Führer? It's me, Morell, your most loyal doctor..." The man in the white coat clearly hadn't expected this question from Hoffman and hurriedly explained himself.
"What are you calling me..."
"Führer!"
Good heavens... Führer! Hoffman subconsciously touched his nose. It felt completely different than usual. He looked at his hands and felt something was off, too. Even worse, he could feel a thick mustache under his nose with the back of his hand—and he had never grown a mustache in his life.
He struggled to sit up. "Help me to the mirror." As the words left his lips, Hoffman was even more shocked. This was definitely not the tone of his usual voice.
Doctor Morell was surprised by Hoffman's request, but years of unquestioning obedience had formed a conditioned reflex. He gently helped the "Führer" over to the wardrobe's full-length mirror. Hoffman kept his eyes slightly closed, not daring to look at the reflection, but the other man's words rang in his ears: "Führer, the accident yesterday morning really scared us to death."
Another "Führer"! Hoffman hardened his heart and opened his eyes wide to look at himself in the mirror: that iconic face, that thick, small mustache under the nose, unique across the entire century and the entire globe—it was none other than the Führer of the Third Reich.
What on earth was going on? Hoffman shook his head in disbelief, trying his best to control his emotions to prevent this earth-shattering turn of events from showing on his face. "Morell, my dear doctor..." He paused, deliberated, and asked slowly, "What is the date today? How long have I been in a coma?"
"Today is August 23, 1942. As for a coma—it hardly counts as one. Two days ago, because you were somewhat agitated, you accidentally fell while taking a walk. There were no obvious external injuries, but you had symptoms of dizziness. Due to the excessive humidity at 'Werewolf', for the sake of your health, you took a special train back to the 'Eagles Nest' to rest. Last night you complained of a headache, so I administered a little barbiturate, which is why you slept a few extra hours. It is now almost 11:00 AM." While explaining, Morell asked in a cautious tone: "Respected Führer, could I trouble you to lie down for a few more minutes so I can give you a comprehensive checkup... Your complexion is a bit pale, and besides... your mental state doesn't seem very good either."
Hoffman thought to himself: Being pale is only natural; anyone who suddenly turned into the Führer would be terrified. However, he wasn't stupid enough to blurt out the fact that he wasn't the Führer—if he dared to say that, he was sure someone would do everything in their power to treat him like a madman.
He obediently lay back down and sighed: "I'm fine. Perhaps it's just because I worry too much about this country."
Morell gave an awkward smile. He certainly knew the truth of the matter: On the evening three days ago, at a campaign discussion held at the Stavka in Vinnitsa, Ukraine, Chief of the Army General Staff Franz Halder had once again engaged in a heated argument with the Führer regarding the situation on the Eastern Front. The furious General had even slammed the table, and the meeting had ended on a sour note. During a walk after breakfast the next day, the Führer was still unable to suppress his anger and complained to the head of Party affairs and Director of the Chancellery, Martin Bormann, about Halder's insubordination and constant opposition to him. Then, due to his agitation, he hadn't watched his step and tripped, hitting his head on a stone...
"Führer, for now, your blood pressure, heartbeat, and pulse are all normal." Morell put down his stethoscope and said earnestly: "For the sake of the Empire, you must take care of your health."
"Thank you for your advice." Hoffman waved his hand. "Tell them to help me get up in half an hour. For now, I need some time alone to collect my thoughts."
The doctor left, closing the door quietly, but Hoffman didn't notice. His mind was racing; he had to think of a strategy for his situation. Hoffman certainly knew what he had encountered. As a research authority, every year he came into contact with all sorts of time-travel works, numbering in the hundreds. Whether they were serious-sounding strategic inferences, vivid literary novels, or meticulously planned academic papers, he dismissed them all as fantasy and laughed them off. He never expected that time travel, the most absurd and bizarre myth he least believed in, would turn into reality.
He remembered Einstein's famous quote: "Because I despised authority so much, fate punished me and made me an authority myself." Because he had despised time travel so much, fate had punished him and made him time-travel as well—and, of all people, to this very person.
As he thought about this, he was surprised to discover that his own consciousness and the Führer's consciousness were merging at a rapid speed, with no resistance or delay whatsoever. Everything in the Führer's mind was being completely absorbed and integrated, becoming a part of Hoffman's own consciousness—the world was still the same world, but the Führer was no longer that Führer.
August 23, 1942, was the moment when the Soviet-German war was reaching its climax. According to the normal historical trajectory, by May 1945—that is, in just over two and a half years—the Soviet army would be planting the Red Flag on the roof of the Reichstag, and he would be committing suicide in a dark, damp basement. Thinking of this terrible ending, he couldn't help but tremble. At this moment, he remembered old Hoffman's words: "...but you are the most unfortunate one, because what you are about to face is such a thorny and difficult empire..." So that's what it was!
No! Absolutely not! I must change this fate!
"Führer." A rhythmic knock sounded at the door. "May we come in?"
"Come in." The German nature was famously punctual. Hoffman, now fully dressed, looked up at the wall clock; exactly half an hour had passed.
Three people entered from outside. The first was Martin Bormann, also a "familiar face" that Hoffman quickly recognized. The second was Morell. Hoffman was not very familiar with the one in the back, but after scouring his memory, he knew the person was named Rudolf Schmundt, an Army Major General, the Führer's Chief Adjutant and currently his most trusted staff officer.
"Respected Führer, I am incomparably happy to see you restored to health." Bormann stepped forward and greeted him in a slightly exaggerated tone.
Hoffman nodded. He knew Morell would definitely report his performance to Bormann. These were people intimately familiar with the Führer; he absolutely could not let anything slip. He answered calmly: "Thank you all for your concern. The events of the last two days left me a bit dejected, but after resting, I feel full of energy and can continue to lead the Empire forward."
Bormann was clearly relieved as well. He had been very startled when Morell came to report that the Führer's mental state was not ideal. One had to know that the reason Martin Bormann had his current power and status was entirely due to the Führer's strong support; without this backer, he would be nothing. Now it seemed Morell had made a mountain out of a molehill; the Führer was perfectly fine! He glared at the latter with dissatisfaction and said: "Führer, originally General Schmundt intended to report personnel arrangements to you first, but now that lunch has been prepared, I wonder...?"
"Then let's talk while we eat." Hoffman waved his hand dismissively and walked out with his head held high.