The office air hung heavy with tension. Speer, sleep-deprived since learning of the head of state's demise, faced Goebbels, Ribbentrop, and Bowman. His nerves frayed, he hadn't slept since the news of Hitler's death.
Goebbels, seemingly impervious to stress, exuded health and control. His grave expression bore into Speer, as if seeking answers within his skull. Ribbentrop, pale and drawn, wore exhaustion like a shroud. His hollow eyes mirrored worry. Bowman, the youngest and least experienced, darted glances between the older men, brow furrowed.
Himmler, the SS national leader, and Goering, the head of state, completed the gathering.
"Gentlemen," Goebbels began, "this is a trying time for the Reich and for us. Let us set aside personal feelings and unite to ensure our nation's survival."
Goring's voice cut through the room. "What are the arrangements for the funeral and memorial?"
Speer's hoarse voice responded, eyes bloodshot. "The funeral is scheduled for noon tomorrow, with the memorial in the Great Hall of the Reich."
Goering's soft voice belied his cold, hard gaze. "May the ceremony be a fitting tribute to our late leader."
"It will be, Führer," Speer strained. "Every detail will honor him."
Silence pressed down, palpable tension. The three men fixed their eyes on Goebbels, awaiting his next move. The fate of the Reich hung in the balance.
Goebbels cleared his throat, his voice low and emotionless. "Gentlemen, it is evident that we face a critical juncture. The Russian advance is relentless, and we must make difficult choices. I've conferred with department heads, and we unanimously agree: the current Reich policy is untenable."
His calm, unwavering tone held the room captive. Shock and disbelief etched the faces of the three men.
"We are entrenched in total war," Goebbels continued. "Comrade Speer and I concur—the economic situation is dire."
"Serious is an understatement," Speer's sharp voice cut through. "Without fresh raw materials and fuel, our German war machine grinds to a halt."
Goebbels nodded, his hooked nose a stark feature. Speer's private thought echoed: Ugly, indeed.
Göring, gray-haired and portly, leaned forward impatiently. "What are our options?"
Goebbels replied, "Two paths lie before us. First, we reconcile with the United States, persuading them to lift their trade embargo across the Americas. Their productivity, agricultural abundance, and industrial might can stabilize us."
Ribbentrop's fear-tinged voice quivered. "How do we achieve it?" Since Hitler's 1950 retirement, Ribbentrop's tenacity surprised Speer each time he glimpsed the foreign minister still on his throne.
Speer, ever pragmatic, proposes a two-pronged approach. "First," he says, "we can temporarily relax our rhetoric and implement economic liberalization. By lifting foreign exchange controls and opening our market to American companies, we can secure immediate benefits for the German people. This pragmatic move may provide an opportunity for the Reich to catch up."
Göring, his eyes narrowed, demands, "And the second option?"
"Reform the economy," Speer replies. "The National Socialist German Workers' Party must evolve. We cannot remain stagnant. Let us adopt a socialist economic system—a departure from our past. Socialism need not be a cancer; it can be a remedy. We must honor the memory of Hitler while adapting to the changing world."
Göring erupts. "Are you out of your mind? Hitler was a great man! We are his successors. We cannot let his legacy die with him."
Ribbentrop, ever loyal, adds, "We cannot betray the Führer's vision for the Reich."
Goebbels interjects, "Our current course leads to destruction. Survival demands change."
Speer's voice remains firm. "We can reform the economy and still honor Hitler's memory. The National Socialist German Workers' Party can be the party of the people. We can save the Reich."
The room crackles with tension as the four men argue. Göring and Ribbentrop cling to the past, while Goebbels and Speer advocate for a new path forward. The fate of millions rests on their shoulders, and the future of the Reich hangs in the balance. The epitaphs of Gregor Strasser and Ernst Röhm—Forgotten or Beefsteak Nazi—echo silently in the room, a reminder of the choices they face.
Göring's voice booms, breaking the silence. "Speer, what is the economic situation like? Can we survive?"
Speer's gaze shifts upward, contemplating the ceiling. His response is measured, delivered with the gravity of a nation's destiny. "Führer, the current economic situation is dire. Unemployment among our youth stands at 12.8%, and the ranks of the jobless swell daily. Our economy falters, inflation soars, and purchasing power wanes. Should the war persist, the Reich itself teeters on the brink of collapse. But if the Americans acquiesce, economic relief awaits, and the populace may find solace. We can reform the system."
Göring's next question cuts through the tension. "How do we sway the Americans?"
"Speer," Goebbels interjects, "believes that Comrade Goebbels' proposal holds the key. We must feign openness, liberalize our speech, and unshackle foreign exchange controls. In return, the United States will lift its embargo and extend aid and equipment."
Goering's intense gaze pierces Speer. "And how long until these reforms bear fruit?"
Speer hesitates. "The timeline remains uncertain. We must play the part, even if it means reforming our economic system or abandoning—or altering—forced labor."
Goebbels leans forward. "Our path is clear. We've discussed this extensively. I've drafted the necessary measures. Relaxing restrictions, opening our market—it's a calculated risk. The masses may not understand, but sometimes stepping back is the surest way to leap forward."
Göring objects, his voice rising. "Dangerous! The Party will bear the blame."
"We have no choice," Goebbels counters. "The Reich's survival demands adaptability."
Speer's resolve remains unshaken. "I'll shoulder the responsibility. I'll face the Americans, persuade them. If they agree, the reforms begin."
"Very well," Goring said. "But if we loosen the reins and let investigative reporters actually find out something..."
"We have launched an anti-corruption campaign." Himmler adjusted his glasses. "I have arrested hundreds of corrupt officials and Party members. The dead cannot speak."
"Then let's get started." Goring nodded.
Speer felt a chill run down his spine. The words "the dead cannot speak" echoed in his head, and he could not help but think of the millions of Jews, Slavs, and others who had been sent to their deaths by the Nazis.
"Let's talk about the career I like." The old Göring turned noncommittally to Himmler in black uniform. "How is the war situation?"
Himmler cleared his throat and began his report. "The Red Army has broken through the German Mountains and has launched a full-scale offensive in the Eastern Viceroyalty. Our troops are retreating, and the Soviets are pushing us back." In a rare move, Himmler stood up and used the map.
"The Soviets are advancing along two main lines," Himmler explained. "They are attacking us from the east and south."
"We clearly drove them into Siberia. Where did they get their weapons?" Goering's face was grim.
"They had aid from the United States, which was probably coming from Pakistan or Siberia into the Soviet Union."
"That's impossible!" Göring protested. "There's no way the Americans could get their equipment into the Soviet Union. They would have to go through the Chinese or Japanese."
"The Japanese acquiesced in this action. We have confirmed it."
"So the Americans and Japanese are now allies against us?" Göring shook his head. "We have to do something."
"Yes, we do," Himmler agreed. "The three commissionerate areas of Ingermanland, Wolga and Moskowien have implemented military martial law."
"How about the Ukrainians and Volksdeutschen in the three viceroyalties? Are they willing to join the Wehrmacht?"
"No," Himmler said. "The Ukrainian nationalists have started guerrilla warfare against the Red Army. However, most of the German-Slavic civilians in the viceroyalties have been evacuated. The situation in Poland and Ostland is stable."
"That's good," Göring said. "What are your plans for the East?"
"We have deployed a large number of troops there," Himmler said. "If we can stop the Red Army, we may have a chance."
"Good." Göring nodded. "How are the preparations for the memorial service?"
"They are going well," Speer replied. "We are still looking for a suitable coffin."
"Find the most luxurious one," Göring instructed. "How is the situation in Africa?"
"Not good," Himmler said. "The African colonial countries are starting to revolt against us. There have been mass demonstrations and strikes in the viceroyalties of Togo, Namibia, South-West Africa, and East Africa. The African Armed SS was undermanned, and the black soldiers recruited from the local area were unable to use any firearms except MPi-KM74s and had low education levels. Illiterate or dropped out of primary school."
"Can we use the white units of the Waffen-SS to reinforce them?"
"Führer," Himmler replied. "Then we would need hundreds of thousands of European SS troops."
"We'll find a way, We have to." Göring swore. "These African savages will never build any great nation."
"Yes, Führer." Himmler bowed his head.
"Good." Göring rubbed his chin. "How large was the number of French SS troops?"
"More than a million," Himmler replied. "They are all good soldiers."
"Good," Göring said. "We have to find a way to send them to Africa. Let the French defend their Africa and ours. By the way, what about the intelligence on white South Africa?"
"We have lost contact with the white South African government," Himmler reported. "Some scraps of intelligence suggested they were acquiring uranium-235."
Dead silence fell over the room. The implications were clear—South Africa was seeking the atomic bomb.
"Can they make one?" Göring asked.
"Possible." Himmler replied. "The white South Africans have the resources and the technical capabilities. They have uranium mines too."
"How is the situation in South-West Africa and South Africa?" Göring's face was flushed.
"We have lost all contact with the white South African government. The German South West Africa garrison is isolated, and the white South Africans are blocking us. Personally I think it would be best to join forces with the United States to solve the white South Africa problem. It is not worth it."
"Don't be silly!" Goring's voice rose. "White South Africa is our ally. We cannot let the American dogs get their claws into them. They are already trying to undermine the Reich and the whole of Europe."
"Yes, Führer."
Göring took a deep breath. "By the way, I've had enough of those Hungarian bureaucrats. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the SS have devised an action plan, joining forces with the Arrow Cross Party, Romania, and Serbia to launch a coup. We must not allow Otto von Habsburg to come to power."
"It is dangerous to intervene directly in Hungary," Ribbentrop warned. "The Americans and Italy will not stand by and watch."
"Then what do you suggest?" Göring glared at Ribbentrop.
"I propose that we use our diplomatic channels to influence the Hungarians. We can promise them more aid and concessions, and convince them to join us."
"That's a good idea." Göring nodded. "Speer, what about the Americans?"
"I have talked to Secretary of State George Marshall," Speer said. "He seems amenable to a compromise. I think he is worried about the war in the Middle East and does not want to be drawn into another conflict. I believe we have a good chance of getting the support we need."
"Now I want to talk to Hans Speidel. You can leave now."
Goebbels, Himmler, Speer, Bowman, and Ribbentrop filed out of the room, leaving alone with Göring.
——
Hitler Funeral, Germania, Germany, 1960
The Fuhrer is dead.
The words echoed in Eva Braun's mind, and her heart ached. She had been prepared for this day, but it didn't make it any easier. The Fuhrer had been her life, and now he was gone.
The funeral procession was a somber affair, with dignitaries and members of the military lining the streets. The crowds were silent, their faces solemn. Eva watched as the casket was carried by six SS guards, their expressions blank. She could feel the pain and loss in the air, and it weighed heavily on her soul.
As the procession moved slowly toward the Reichstag, Eva's thoughts turned to the past. She had met Adolf Hitler when she was just 17 years old, and he had swept her off her feet. He was charismatic and charming, and Eva had been mesmerized by him.
Now, 23 years later, she was a widow. She had stood by his side through the triumphs and the tragedies, and she had supported him unconditionally. Eva's vision blurred and a boy held her hand. "Aunt, why are you crying?"
"I'm just sad, my dear," Eva replied, her voice barely a whisper.
"But the Fuhrer said that only the weak will cry," the boy said.
"It's okay to cry when you're sad, little one," Eva said, her heart heavy. "Let's walk together." Adolf Fegelein was the son of her sister and Hermann Fegelein.
The boy took her hand and they walked slowly behind the funeral procession. The streets were lined with people, and they stared in silence as the cortege passed by. The boy looked up at her and smiled, and Eva felt a wave of love wash over her. Eva laughed softly, her eyes still filled with tears.
They continued walking, the sounds of the mourners drifting away in the wind. Hitler's family walked shoulder to shoulder with Eva's family, but clearly divided into two groups. More important than them are the political figures.
The Nazi flags draped across the buildings seemed to have lost their luster, and the city itself seemed to have lost its soul. The Fuhrer was dead, and with him, the dreams of a Thousand-Year Reich. The death of the devil did not end the wheel of the system. The long walk and the military police along the way constituted a long nightmare.
Finally, the procession reached at Hitler's Mausoleum from the Reichstag. The building was imposing and majestic, and Eva felt a sense of awe as she looked up at it. The crowds grew thicker, and the air was filled with the sound of whispered conversations.
"This is the final resting place of our Fuhrer," Eva said softly. The boy nodded, his eyes wide. Eva watched as the casket was carried into the building, and a sense of finality settled over her. The boy squeezed her hand, and Eva gave him a small smile. Her heart was breaking, but she had to be strong.
"Come on, let's go home," Eva said, her voice wavering.
"Shall we not wait until the funeral is completed? Perhaps Führer Goering will speak."
"We've already paid our respects, and now we need to return home."
"But—" the boy protested.
"It's time to go, my dear," Eva said firmly. She could see the sadness in his eyes, and she knew he was feeling the loss as deeply as she was. But she also knew that there was nothing more to be gained by staying. The boy sighed and reluctantly agreed.
Eva's heart was heavy as they made their way back through the crowd. The prototype of Hitler's mausoleum is the Pantheon in Rome, which is 40 meters long. This was the final resting place of the Fuhrer, and it was a place that would forever be engraved in the hearts and minds of the people.
"Do you think he is happy now, Auntie?" the boy asked, his voice trembling.
"Yes, I think he is finally at peace," Eva replied, her own voice thick with emotion.
"I hope so," the boy said, his voice barely a whisper. "I heard something at school."
"What did you hear, little one?"
"Someone said the Fuhrer was not human, and that he was a monster. Is that true?"
"I don't think he was a monster, but he did do some terrible things. He was a man, and men are capable of great good and great evil. But in the end, he was a human being, just like you and me." Eva paused, considering her words carefully. "God forgives us all."
"I don't think God would forgive him," the boy said, his voice filled with conviction.
"Why not?" Eva asked, curious.
"Because the Fuhrer killed so many people, and God is love. He couldn't have loved the Fuhrer."
"I'm not sure that's true," Eva said. "But I know that the Fuhrer was loved by many people. Even if God doesn't forgive him, I think his memory will live on for generations to come."
As they were about to continue down the steps, Eichmann blocked them. "Ma'am, where are you going?"
"We are going home," Eva said.
"I'm sorry, but you can't," Eichmann said. "You must stay here."
"For what reason?"
"We have received orders from above," Eichmann said. "As a member of the family of Führer Adolf, you must attend the funeral."
"But I've already paid my respects," Eva said. "I have no desire to listen to the speeches of those sycophants."
"I'm sorry, but the order comes from the top," Eichmann said, his tone firm. "You are the last descendant of the family of Führer Adolf Hitler, and you must attend the funeral."
"Fine," Eva said, her frustration clear. "But I won't listen to a word they say. Let's go."
The boy followed Eva back into the Hitler's Mausoleum. Eva knew that the political leaders would use this opportunity to curry favor with the new leader, Goering.
Goering was a large man with a booming voice and a penchant for the finer things in life. He had risen to power through a combination of charisma and ruthlessness, and Eva had never trusted him. But now, as she listened to his speech, she found herself grudgingly impressed by his ability to capture the mood of the crowd.
"The Führer was a visionary," Goering said, his voice carrying across the hall. "He saw the potential in each of us, and he gave us the strength and the courage to achieve greatness. He was a leader who inspired us to be more than we ever thought possible. His legacy will live on in our hearts and minds, and we will carry on his mission to create a better world."
Eva looked around the room, and she could see the effect of Goering's words. The people were moved, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Eva's heart sank, and she knew that the new era had begun. It doesn't matter whether these people are really moved or not.
As long as Goering can control the crowd, the people will be deceived. The people are tired of fighting, and they will welcome a new leader who promises peace and prosperity. But Eva knew that the peace would not last. While Goering was speaking, a young gendarme took a few steps closer. Suddenly, it happened. The gendarme took out his pistol and aimed it at Göring.
There was a deafening bang, and chaos erupted in the room. People were screaming, and bodies were flying everywhere. Eva was knocked to the ground, and she covered her head, trying to protect herself.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. When the dust cleared, Eva looked up and saw a figure lying on the ground. It was Goering, and he was dead. The military policeman who fired the shot also fell in a pool of blood.
In the melee, Eva took advantage of the chaos and carried the boy out of the hall. She ran as fast as she could, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know who had killed Goering, but she knew that her life was in danger.