act, it had taken a toll. During recent weeks in the bunker he'd had virtually no exerci se and his stamina was gone. Br u mm was forced to pull him up the vertical wall. When they finally reached the upper level, they settled in at the widened inters ection of the blind tunnels. Br u mm chewed hard bread as he spread the contents of his kit bag on a small linen towel. Lighting two tallow candles, he held them horizontally to drip wax onto the metal and set them in their drippings. They would give him enough light to work with; he would save the flashlight for more important needs.
The first task was to alter his companion's appearance. The changes had been worke d out by Hitler; he reminded Br u mm repeatedly that as "Europe's greatest actor" a change in appearance would be an easy matter. He had studied the mysteries and techniques of theatrical makeup and had made numerous sketches to depict how he might look, given different cosmetic modifications. Brumm thought the sketches all looked alike and paid little attention to Hitler's long-winded dissertation on the use of costumes and makeup in Wagnerian opera.
"My hand's still not right," Hitler observed as he held the left arm near a candle. "I've only been off the drugs for a short while. It's getting stronger, but there's been atrophy; in time it will be stronger."
Bru mm nodded. "Hold the light," he said. Hitler accepted the flashlight with his right hand and held it under his chin, casting an eerie glow; deep shadows magnified the depressio ns and wrinkles in his face. Bru mm uncapped a small container of concentrated soap, poured a small amount onto the palm of his hand, spit in it, mixed it with his forefinger and rubbed it into Hitler's mustache. When it was properly lathered, he shaved the upper lip clean with a straight razor. Hitler kept his eyes shut while the colonel worked.
The elimination of the m ustache produced a surprise. Bri mm stared at Hitler's nose; he had never noticed its massive size before. The mustache, a subtle addition that dramatically altered the face, had drawn attenti on away from it. Perhaps the Fü hrer knew what he was talking about.
Next he rubbed the soap into Hitler 's hair. "Trim it back," the Fü hrer instructed.
"No," Bru mm said firmly. "We're going to shave it off-all of it."
Hitler stared hard at the officer. His shoulders tensed; he seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper, but after a moment he sighed and shrugged, his shoulders relaxing. "You have the razor," he said.
When the job was done, the old Adolf Hitler was nearly gone.
Brumm handed him heavy glasses with gray metal frames, the lenses ground to his precise prescription. The new spectacles made the leader of the Third Reich look like some kind of bird.
There remained other changes to be made. Brumm extracted a thick rolled bandage from his kit and unrolled it. "Go ahead," Hitler commanded, accepting the bandage.
Brumm hesitated.
"What has to be done has to be done," the Führer said. "Delay doesn't change the inevitable. Besides, you have the easy part." He turned his back to Brumm and sat back so that his head was in the colonel's lap. Brumm took a deep breath, tensed his hand, lifted it and drove the stiffened heel of his hand down onto the bridge of the man's nose, crushing the cartilage loudly. Hitler grunted under the blow, and tears streamed from his eyes.
Brumm quickly used the bandage to stern the flow of blood, and within minutes Hitler's face began to swell. Both eyes would blacken and eventually shut. The damage to the nose was extensive. At the point between the eyes, the tissue was flat and broken so that the nose now hung downward at an acute angle and seemed to taper to a point. Had he aimed the blo w in an upward direction, the Fü hrer would have been dead, and for a moment he pictured a dead Hitler in his lap.
"How's your breathing?"
"Blood inside. Need to sit up. Hurts," Hitler muttered.
Brumm was worried. Pain was not something
The first task was to alter his companion's appearance. The changes had been worke d out by Hitler; he reminded Br u mm repeatedly that as "Europe's greatest actor" a change in appearance would be an easy matter. He had studied the mysteries and techniques of theatrical makeup and had made numerous sketches to depict how he might look, given different cosmetic modifications. Brumm thought the sketches all looked alike and paid little attention to Hitler's long-winded dissertation on the use of costumes and makeup in Wagnerian opera.
"My hand's still not right," Hitler observed as he held the left arm near a candle. "I've only been off the drugs for a short while. It's getting stronger, but there's been atrophy; in time it will be stronger."
Bru mm nodded. "Hold the light," he said. Hitler accepted the flashlight with his right hand and held it under his chin, casting an eerie glow; deep shadows magnified the depressio ns and wrinkles in his face. Bru mm uncapped a small container of concentrated soap, poured a small amount onto the palm of his hand, spit in it, mixed it with his forefinger and rubbed it into Hitler's mustache. When it was properly lathered, he shaved the upper lip clean with a straight razor. Hitler kept his eyes shut while the colonel worked.
The elimination of the m ustache produced a surprise. Bri mm stared at Hitler's nose; he had never noticed its massive size before. The mustache, a subtle addition that dramatically altered the face, had drawn attenti on away from it. Perhaps the Fü hrer knew what he was talking about.
Next he rubbed the soap into Hitler 's hair. "Trim it back," the Fü hrer instructed.
"No," Bru mm said firmly. "We're going to shave it off-all of it."
Hitler stared hard at the officer. His shoulders tensed; he seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper, but after a moment he sighed and shrugged, his shoulders relaxing. "You have the razor," he said.
When the job was done, the old Adolf Hitler was nearly gone.
Brumm handed him heavy glasses with gray metal frames, the lenses ground to his precise prescription. The new spectacles made the leader of the Third Reich look like some kind of bird.
There remained other changes to be made. Brumm extracted a thick rolled bandage from his kit and unrolled it. "Go ahead," Hitler commanded, accepting the bandage.
Brumm hesitated.
"What has to be done has to be done," the Führer said. "Delay doesn't change the inevitable. Besides, you have the easy part." He turned his back to Brumm and sat back so that his head was in the colonel's lap. Brumm took a deep breath, tensed his hand, lifted it and drove the stiffened heel of his hand down onto the bridge of the man's nose, crushing the cartilage loudly. Hitler grunted under the blow, and tears streamed from his eyes.
Brumm quickly used the bandage to stern the flow of blood, and within minutes Hitler's face began to swell. Both eyes would blacken and eventually shut. The damage to the nose was extensive. At the point between the eyes, the tissue was flat and broken so that the nose now hung downward at an acute angle and seemed to taper to a point. Had he aimed the blo w in an upward direction, the Fü hrer would have been dead, and for a moment he pictured a dead Hitler in his lap.
"How's your breathing?"
"Blood inside. Need to sit up. Hurts," Hitler muttered.
Brumm was worried. Pain was not something
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