The sound of a dull thud from somewhere outside had drawn his attention away from the meeting. Listening intently, the sound had quickly died away and all he could hear now was the wheezing of the machine at the end of one of the corridors. That machine was meant to feed air into the compact group of rooms but as always, the air was heavy and stagnant. Despite all the efforts that had been taken to make this hateful place more comfortable, he didn’t feel in any way relaxed in the protective embrace of these cold, concrete, windowless walls and of all the places he could be right now, this would have been his last choice. It was only because the situation had deteriorated so rapidly, that he had agreed to be here.
Then they heard another dull thud but this seemed noticeably louder. The noises combined with the palpable tension in the room reminded him of the distant summer thunderstorms that had rumbled around the mountains of his childhood home. Those storms had frightened him to his core but with that fear had come a strange excitement. Much of what he’d done as an adult had been driven by his desire to re-discover that excitement…….for a moment, he yearned for those innocent childhood years. He checked himself: he couldn’t afford to entertain such thoughts at times like this. Besides, those dull thuds which had been growing louder and more frequent in the last few days, were far more ominous than thunder. In his increasingly fearful state of mind, he pictured the menacing sounds as the crushing boots of an advancing army - an appropriate image, given what was happening out there in the outskirts of his beloved capital.
He paused to take in the room around him: maps and generals and uniforms and everywhere, the red, white and black emblem that had become his symbol of power. Not once had it occurred to him that this symbol would be seen by generations to come as a sign of the greatest evil man had ever unleashed on fellow man. Before he’d been distracted by the noises from outside, they had been reviewing the plans they had for his escape. Like some cornered rat, he was to leave through a system of tunnels that had been built far below the ravaged city streets – built at enormous cost, but only for his use. The tunnels would take him to the airport from where they’d fly him north – or maybe south – to the coast, where he’d board a submarine. They knew he hated submarines - the claustrophobia and the smell of oil, worn rubber and vomit……..these were the plans of idiots. Why at a time like this, was he surrounded by idiots?
He didn’t harbour the slightest feelings of gratitude towards the people that were with him now. It was obvious from their ashen complexions and the terror in their blue eyes that they knew the end was near and yet their sole motivation seemed to be to fawn and to fuss over him……it drove him to distraction. Although these were probably the last living souls he would see, he would be rid of them all in an instant.
And then there was Eva. Right now, she’d be in the next room, doing her daily exercises in a vain attempt to stamp some semblance of normality on their ridiculous situation. Each day he’d yearn for the start of her exercise sessions because it meant she wouldn’t be hanging round him, mooning like some lovestruck teenager. When they’d first met, he’d been besotted by her ambition. Like him, she wanted to be so big and so important and he’d enjoyed her simple, almost childish ways. But those times were gone - a life that now seemed so remote, it must surely have belonged to someone else.
How had it all gone so wrong? Twelve years ago, he’d had it made….the big parades, the adoring millions, chanting his name. Of course there had been a cost…..but he’d made sure it was others that had paid the price. Was it his fault that the countries he conquered were so weak when he was so strong? The blood and dirt had never been part of the dream…in hindsight, maybe he’d been too ambitious but he’d never had to listen to the screams, he’d never had to witness the pain and the terror he’d unleashed on the world. Through his guile and cunning, he always made sure it was someone else that had done his dirty work. But the world should never forget this had been his plan – his struggle. It was he who had made history, not his snivelling generals and certainly not Eva......
In that moment with the Soviet Army tightening their grip on his Berlin bunker, he realised that despite what he and everyone else believed, he’d never loved Eva Braun.
LOVE IT!!! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼.... ❤️... 💚🐁💚