been present when the Führer had proposed to Fräulein Braun. She had actually seen the historic moment! The Führer had walked up to his beloved and whispered in her ear. She had drawn back in astonishment and she, Trudl, had heard a distinct little gasp. The Führer had then hurried from the room and Fräulein Braun had come over to her. Her eyes had been moist with unshed tears, and she had whispered: “ Meine liebe Trudl, tonight we are certainly going to weep!”
Her first reaction had been one of grief, she’d stated dramatically, for she had thought Fräulein Braun was referring to the Führer’s death. But she had quickly learned that she meant tears of joy.
Lorenz hurried through the door to the conference corridor and walked toward the Führer’s quarters. Despite all the gallows-courage preparations for the wedding he felt an air of resigned despair that seeped into every corner of the Bunker. Even the gloomy, depressing corridor that connected the Propaganda Ministry with the underground concrete warren that was the Führer Bunker seemed cheerful to him in comparison, the yellowish, domed lights that studded the ceiling at regular intervals almost festive.
It was shortly after 1900 hours, and Lorenz bore ill-starred tidings.
A few minutes before, sitting at his radio transmitter-receiver in his little cubbyhole of an office off the Propaganda Ministry tunnel he had intercepted a German language broadcast from Radio Stockholm. Quoting a BBC Reuters report. It had shocked him deeply.
Behind the Führer’s back SS Reichsleiter Heinrich Himmler had offered the Allies an unconditional surrender!
Lorenz was disturbed. He knew the Führer was apt to deal harshly with harbingers of unwelcome news. The bulletin he clutched in his hand might well hold disastrous consequences for himself. But withholding it might be even worse.
At the door to the Führer’s quarters Hitler’s valet, Heinz Linge, stopped him.
“The Führer is not to be disturbed,” he said.
Lorenz drew a sigh of relief. He handed the bulletin to Linge. “Urgent,” he said. “Please give it to the Führer as soon as possible.” And before there could be any discussion he turned and quickly walked away.
White-faced, livid with rage, Hitler stormed into the little hospital room. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, shaking in uncontrollable fury, he stood staring at the startled Ritter von Greim and at Hanna Reitsch sitting at his bedside.
Brandishing the Reuters bulletin over his head he screamed at them, his voice hoarse with hatred, his face distorted in such frenzy that it was barely recognizable, the blue veins standing out in his neck, bloated with rage.
“Himmler is a traitor!” he shrieked. “ Der treue Heinrich hat mich verraten! Behind my back the despicable double-crosser has offered to deliver the Reich—the German people— me! —into the hands of the enemy!”
His venomous paroxysm of fury threatened to choke him. He shook the bulletin at Hanna and Greim who sat watching him, aghast.
“Must all great men suffer a damnable betrayer?” he screamed. “Caesar his Brutus. I— Himmler!"
In berserk agitation he began to pace the little room, ranting his rage at the traitorous Himmler.
Profoundly shaken, Hanna watched her beloved Führer gripped in the throes of his violent agony. Her heart went out to him. Was he to be spared nothing? Even now? She knew he had always valued and believed in the loyalty and devotion of Heinrich Himmler, his trusted, ever faithful supporter and ally. Who now, in the eleventh hour, had stabbed him in the back. She knew how deeply the wound must hurt. It was the most cruel blow of all. She knew. But she knew not what to say.
“Goering was always a contemptible opportunist. Corrupt,” Hitler mouthed venomously. “But Heinrich! Worse! Pretending to be loyal!” He suddenly whirled on Ritter von Greim. He shook a trembling fist at him. “A traitor must never be my successor as Führer of
Her first reaction had been one of grief, she’d stated dramatically, for she had thought Fräulein Braun was referring to the Führer’s death. But she had quickly learned that she meant tears of joy.
Lorenz hurried through the door to the conference corridor and walked toward the Führer’s quarters. Despite all the gallows-courage preparations for the wedding he felt an air of resigned despair that seeped into every corner of the Bunker. Even the gloomy, depressing corridor that connected the Propaganda Ministry with the underground concrete warren that was the Führer Bunker seemed cheerful to him in comparison, the yellowish, domed lights that studded the ceiling at regular intervals almost festive.
It was shortly after 1900 hours, and Lorenz bore ill-starred tidings.
A few minutes before, sitting at his radio transmitter-receiver in his little cubbyhole of an office off the Propaganda Ministry tunnel he had intercepted a German language broadcast from Radio Stockholm. Quoting a BBC Reuters report. It had shocked him deeply.
Behind the Führer’s back SS Reichsleiter Heinrich Himmler had offered the Allies an unconditional surrender!
Lorenz was disturbed. He knew the Führer was apt to deal harshly with harbingers of unwelcome news. The bulletin he clutched in his hand might well hold disastrous consequences for himself. But withholding it might be even worse.
At the door to the Führer’s quarters Hitler’s valet, Heinz Linge, stopped him.
“The Führer is not to be disturbed,” he said.
Lorenz drew a sigh of relief. He handed the bulletin to Linge. “Urgent,” he said. “Please give it to the Führer as soon as possible.” And before there could be any discussion he turned and quickly walked away.
White-faced, livid with rage, Hitler stormed into the little hospital room. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, shaking in uncontrollable fury, he stood staring at the startled Ritter von Greim and at Hanna Reitsch sitting at his bedside.
Brandishing the Reuters bulletin over his head he screamed at them, his voice hoarse with hatred, his face distorted in such frenzy that it was barely recognizable, the blue veins standing out in his neck, bloated with rage.
“Himmler is a traitor!” he shrieked. “ Der treue Heinrich hat mich verraten! Behind my back the despicable double-crosser has offered to deliver the Reich—the German people— me! —into the hands of the enemy!”
His venomous paroxysm of fury threatened to choke him. He shook the bulletin at Hanna and Greim who sat watching him, aghast.
“Must all great men suffer a damnable betrayer?” he screamed. “Caesar his Brutus. I— Himmler!"
In berserk agitation he began to pace the little room, ranting his rage at the traitorous Himmler.
Profoundly shaken, Hanna watched her beloved Führer gripped in the throes of his violent agony. Her heart went out to him. Was he to be spared nothing? Even now? She knew he had always valued and believed in the loyalty and devotion of Heinrich Himmler, his trusted, ever faithful supporter and ally. Who now, in the eleventh hour, had stabbed him in the back. She knew how deeply the wound must hurt. It was the most cruel blow of all. She knew. But she knew not what to say.
“Goering was always a contemptible opportunist. Corrupt,” Hitler mouthed venomously. “But Heinrich! Worse! Pretending to be loyal!” He suddenly whirled on Ritter von Greim. He shook a trembling fist at him. “A traitor must never be my successor as Führer of
Similar Books
![Tempted by Two Angels [Notorious Nephilim 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/527843/thumbs/152x264/tempted-by-two-angels-notorious-nephilim-3-siren-publishing-menage-amour.png)
