Germania, German Capital
The pen greedily sucked ink from the bottle, while Deputy National Leader Eichmann of the SS completed the ink filling at the bottleneck of the ink bottle. Eichmann was a fanatical Nazi and a boring office bureaucracy. Eichmann turned to the page in his heavy notebook that said hamburg in the first line, and crossed out a name casually. The last line in the notebook said baltics, the words were written very neatly, and there were no spelling errors, nor did there seem to be any grammar mistakes.
The names in the notebook were all people. The deceased were all marked with black lines by Eichmann. The causes of death in the records included suicide, car accidents, and plane crashes, but he knew that these individuals were mid-level perpetrators of the Holocaust and needed to be silenced.
In Eichmann's notebook, there are more than a thousand names on the list.
After finishing this list, he closed his eyes and slowly adjusted his breathing. The dark night of his soul passed and he turned his attention to the stack of reports. That's the investigation report on the assassination at Hitler's Mausoleum, but the content was different from what he had read last time, the person who gave the command to assassinate Göring was Himmler and not the gendarmerie.
He sighed with relief, took out a black fountain pen, and carefully wrote a check mark next to Himmler's name on his notepad. Eichmann took a sip of cold tea on the desk and leaned back in the leather armchair, closed his eyes, and felt a sudden surge of relief. Himmler can be killed as long as this report is handed over to the Wehrmacht or Bormann.
Eichmann looked out the window of his office at the darkness beyond and his gaze rested on the imposing columns and the grand arches that were barely visible in the dim light of the moon. The future and history are so fascinating, and there is a pain in his throat. This is a strange feeling of pain that he can't express or explain. He felt like a drop of water falling into the abyss, only the bottom of the abyss was his grave.
A man's footsteps came over. The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and Eichmann could tell that it was the voice of an old man. The tea is toxic!
Eichmann reached for his teacup. Before the teacup touched his lips, his fingers tightened and the cup broke on the table, leaving a trail of dark tea. "Sir?" A voice asked outside the door, but Eichmann didn't reply.
——
Himmler sat in the chair, staring at the map on the wall. On the map, the black pins represented the current situation, and the blue pins represented the predicted future.
There was a large swastika flag behind him, and the flag fluttered in the wind, giving the scene a majestic and solemn atmosphere.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence, and the Reichsführer-SS's expression didn't change. The footsteps were light and hurried, and the SS man's face was flushed with excitement. He saluted, "Reporting!"
"Speak," Himmler ordered.
"Sir, we've captured two traitors who've come to the German Capital. Their target is your life."
Himmler was silent for a moment, and his eyes never left the map. "Shot and incinerated."
"Understood!" the man replied, and turned and left the room. Himmler stared at the map, Then picked up the nearby landline and dialed. "Give me the National Socialist Party's General Secretary!"
After a few seconds, a deep voice came from the other side, "Himmler? What's the matter?"
"Martin," Himmler's tone was soft and friendly, "I've recently heard that you've been having a bit of trouble with the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe.
"What kind of trouble?" Bormann's voice was full of suspicion.
"It's about the assassination of Göring at Hitler's Mausoleum. You can't investigate the SS just because the participants were military police. The reason why they joined the military police is that they didn't want to join the army and wanted to protect their hometowns."
"Is this a threat, Himmler?" Bormann's voice was ice-cold.
Himmler laughed, his voice calm and steady. "No, Martin, this is just a reminder. After all, our two factions have always been united. I hope we can continue to cooperate and work together for a bright future."
"Himmler, you can rest assured that we will not do anything rash."
"Thank you." Himmler put down the phone and turned back to the map, his eyes fixed on the blue pins. The telephone dial spun again.
"Report!"
"The traitor, Eichmann, has committed suicide. We can't wake him up."
"Immediately cremated and the cause of death was sudden death." Himmler put down the phone. In the end, there are only three major figures, and the most dangerous ones are the military. The old Himmler dialed again.
"Hans Speidel, this is Himmler."
"Reichsführer-SS, I'm happy to hear from you." Hans von Speidel is the chief of staff of the German Armed Forces.
"I want to discuss the situation in the Eastern Front."
"Of course. I'm all ears."
"We don't have much time, so I'll be blunt. I've received reports that the Soviet Union is planning to attack Germany, and they've already begun moving their troops. Can Wehrmacht troops from mainland Germany and the Commissionerate Areas be transferred to the front? If the Soviets attack, we'll have to fight back."
Speidel paused for a moment, then replied, "Reichsführer-SS, I can't confirm the accuracy of this information. If it's true, we need to verify the source. It's not enough to transfer troops based on hearsay."
"I understand," Himmler said. "Let's meet tomorrow and discuss this further. We're running out of time."
"Yes, Reichsführer-SS, I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you." Himmler put down the receiver and rubbed his temples, his eyes closed. Dial Speer.
"Speer, this is Himmler. How's the reconstruction of the Reich Capital going?"
"Reichsführer-SS, it's going well, and I think we can finish it by the end of the year." Speer's tone was wary and skeptical.
"Do we need to tell lies on the dedicated line?"
"Reichsführer-SS, please speak frankly," Speer said.
"I will confess right now that I was not responsible for the assassination in Hitler's mausoleum. I was neither necessary nor stupid enough to use military police to assassinate Göring. It's not my style. The only one who can make such a decision is you, Martin Bormann, and Hans Speidel, the three of us."
"Reichsführer, don't you think it's a little inappropriate for you to point the finger at others at this time? We're all on the same boat. Let's work together to get through this."
"I've already pointed the finger. I'm telling you that if I'm the culprit, you can't beat me. The focus now is to deal with Bowman, and I tell you, in the Reichstag tomorrow, Martin and Hans will launch actions that are harmful to National Socialism."
"Reichsführer-SS, if you have any proof, let me see it. Otherwise, it's impossible to make a judgment."
"Speer, do you want to go to hell?" Himmler's voice was low and dangerous.
"Reichsführer-SS, no. I'm trying to avoid a mistake. You promised that we would hit Bormann with our anti-corruption plan, but you wrote Bormann in that Hitler will!"
"Speer, don't play dumb. You're not the type of person to make a mistake. You can look into what troops our Chief of Staff is moving into Germania tonight. Don't tell me he wants to take a military parade. It's just that he's afraid of me, so he can't say it. You can ask him. You will find the answer to your question."
"I understand, Reichsführer-SS. If I discover any irregularities, I'll inform you immediately."
"Good. Be careful of the knife on your back, Speer. Tomorrow, in the Reichstag, is the last chance to clean up the Party's garbage."
"I understand."
Himmler hung up the phone, his eyes cold and unblinking. He picked up the landline again, this time calling Arthur Nebe, the SS criminal police leader.
"Arthur, it's Himmler."
"Reichsführer-SS, I'm listening," Nebe said, his voice neutral.
"Arthur, I've already told Speer and Speidel, and I'll tell you the same thing. You immediately control Goebbels and Ribbentrop, and keep a close eye on Bormann."
"Understood, Reichsführer-SS."
Himmler took a deep breath and exhaled, his eyes fixed on the map.
——
In the early morning, the city was shrouded in fog. The sound of the car was muffled, and the sound of the engine was like a low roar. A short-haired young woman wearing a black dress and a swastika was in the back seat, with the world-weary expression of someone who was born into a wealthy family.
Suddenly, a heavy truck struck.
The front end of the truck smashed into the Mercedes at high speed, and the heavy engine broke through the front windshield of the Mercedes, pinning the woman inside. Blood and glass sprayed the air as the Mercedes crumpled around the engine of the heavy truck. The sound of grinding metal was deafening.
A moment of silence.
The young woman was still breathing, but her head and chest were severely injured, and she couldn't move. "Mom!" Several men in workers' clothes got out of the truck, but the woman's pupils narrowed. The men's walking posture was too standard, like military police. The truck smashed through the car and then got up and ran over, not at all panicked, and no bystanders.
The men came over and stared at her. "Hello, Goebbels's youngest daughter?" One of the leaders took out the photos from his arms to compare. "We'll take you home. The hospital can't save your life."
——
Goebbels house on Swan Island
The front door of the house opened. Goebbels was sitting at the dining table in the hall with his daughter Holdine and wife. The light shone on them, illuminating their tired faces. A uniformed man ran in and knelt on the ground, "Mr. Reich Minister, your youngest daughter Heidrun is in a car accident. It's bad and you better come over!"
Goebbels stood up suddenly, his face turning white, his hand trembling, "Heide is in an accident! Take me there immediately!" Goebbels ran out with his family in his arms, and the driver ran to get the car. As soon as they went out, a group of armed SS troops appeared from the villa lawn. A large armored personnel carrier came through the door, and there was no doubt about its power and presence. The black, low-slung body and angular frame gave the impression of an armored car ready to roll forward.
There was a clang as a hatch opened from the back of the vehicle, and several figures emerged from the vehicle. They were all SS officers, dressed in black combat uniforms and black boots, their eyes hard and cold. "Reich Minister Goebbels! You are under arrest for treason! Come with me!"
Goebbels was shocked and pointed to the officers. "How dare you? I am the Minister of Propaganda of the German Reich, and I will not be arrested without evidence..."
Goebbels was struggling desperately, but the SS officer's grip was tight, and there was no way he could escape. The soldiers pulled Goebbels into the armored personnel carrier.
——
What prison was there in Germania where a minister of the Reich could be imprisoned? Of course, the most suitable place is the Prinz Albrecht Palais. A place full of unpleasant memories and pain.
A short time after being arrested, Goebbels was imprisoned in one of the cells, which was sparsely furnished and barely furnished. Goebbels sat on the bed, his eyes staring at the ground blankly. "What happened?" He felt like he was in a dream, and the reality before him didn't feel real at all. It was like everything around him had become a distant blur, and all that mattered was his own thoughts.
He had no idea why he was here or how long he'd been here. The only thing that was clear was that his life had just gone down the drain, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The iron door opened slowly, and two SS officers pulled his most introverted daughter Helmut into the room. "This is how you interrogate people? What is your evidence against my daughter?" Goebbels screamed. The young man just shook his head.
The young officer pressed Helmut to the wall, tore off her clothes, and forced her to kneel on the floor. A confession was thrown on Goebbels' desk. Goebbels's face turned white, and his hands shook with rage as he picked up the confession and read it. The contents were terrible, but Goebbels could hardly believe it. The confession was signed by his own daughter.
"Goebbels! You Jewish executioner lurking in the Party and Germany! You must be proud to have a daughter like her!" SS officers looked down at Helmut and said mockingly. "Helmut, you don't know how many men I have tortured. The younger the victim, the harder it is to confess. Especially those who have wives and daughters, if they don't confess they will watch them being enjoyed."
SS officers turned around and left. Goebbels's face turned pale again, he staggered forward, and the iron door slammed shut in his face. The last thing he saw before the iron door closed was his daughter crying for him to save her.
"Himmler!" Goebbels screamed angrily. He collapsed to the ground in tears, his heart bleeding.
——
Twenty years had passed, and Martin Bowman found himself teetering on the edge of power. The blade of authority had been his dance partner for two decades, and the thrill still coursed through his veins. When Hitler's grip on power had finally slipped away, Bowman remained standing. In the grand tapestry of the Reich's history, the gap between a party leader and a deputy leader was insurmountable. Bowman had ascended, but he hadn't yet scaled the heights of the Führer.
Before him stood the imposing Germania Palace, where the Reichstag convened. Its marble façade radiated both authority and menace. Armored vehicles flanked the entrance, their cannons poised to unleash destruction. A hundred troops encircled the building, their eyes alert, fingers resting on triggers. Waffen-SS soldiers, their loyalty unwavering. Overhead, helicopters roared, their blades slicing through the air like vengeful spirits.
Bowman stepped into the cavernous halls of the Germania Palace, flanked by his SS guards. The echoes of history reverberated off the walls—the ghosts of those who once raised their hands in salute now dispersed, leaving only the cold metal of machine guns. The grandeur of the past had given way to stark emptiness.
The dimly lit corridors stretched before him, shadows cast by flickering lamps. Heavy footsteps echoed, each one a reminder of the weight he carried. Ahead lay the conference hall, where the Reich's leaders awaited him. Bowman drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation that loomed. The paintings lining the walls depicted Nazi triumphs and battles—a gallery of bloodshed and ambition.
As he walked, Bowman wondered: Would he rise to the occasion, or would he remain forever in Hitler's shadow? The Germania Palace held secrets, and within its walls, destiny awaited. The dance continued, and Bowman moved forward, ready to claim his place in history.
The dimly lit conference hall buzzed with tension. Martin Bowman's eyes darted from the imposing figure of Heinrich Himmler to the two stone-faced bodyguards flanking him. The room seemed to close in on him, the air thick with foreboding.
Soldiers marching into Paris, their boots echoing through the cobbled streets, and Hitler's fiery speeches at the Nuremberg Rallies—those were the images that flickered across Bowman's mind. The photographs, neatly arranged on the table, held a strange power. They whispered of victories, fervor, and a world teetering on the brink of chaos. Bowman could almost feel the energy they evoked, as if the past were clawing its way into the present.
But reality was less forgiving. Martin's once-vigorous body had been conquered by age spots. His hair, once dark and defiant, now clung to his scalp in thin, wispy strands. His frame, once sturdy, had withered. The march of time had left its indelible mark.
Himmler's eyes bore into him, calculating and cold. The Reichsführer-SS, architect of terror, awaited him. Bowman's gaze shifted to the two bodyguards—silent sentinels, their loyalty unwavering. "Martin," Himmler drawled, "you look like you've seen a ghost."
Bowman clenched his fists, the knuckles white. "I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome," he retorted. "Why this charade, Himmler?"
The SS leader chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth. "You've made an enemy of me, Martin. And enemies don't receive warm embraces." His eyes gleamed. "You're the scapegoat."
"Scapegoat?" Bowman's voice cracked. "For what? Hitler's assassination?"
Himmler's smile widened. "Precisely. You're the canvas upon which we'll paint our conspiracy. The perfect patsy."
Bowman's disbelief surged. "Framed? Do you think I'll go down without a fight? What evidence do you have?"
Himmler leaned in, his breath icy. "Evidence enough. Enough to sway minds, to condemn you. No need for details."
"This isn't justice," Bowman protested. "I demand a real trial."
Himmler's expression remained inscrutable. "Ah, but that's the beauty of it. I've prepared the Volksgerichtshof."
Bowman's blood ran cold. "The Volksgerichtshof? It's a puppet court, a tool of the SS!"
"It's the highest court in the land," Himmler countered. "And it will try you for treason."
As Himmler signaled his guards, Bowman's mind raced. The Volksgerichtshof—a mockery of justice. He backed away, desperation clawing at him. "This won't stand," he whispered. "I won't be your sacrificial lamb."
Himmler's parting words hung in the air. "Don't worry, Martin. It'll all be over soon."
The room swallowed Bowman as the guards closed in. The shadows whispered of betrayal, and the echoes of history reverberated—a symphony of power, fear, and treachery.
——
April 1960, Germania Military Region Headquarters
The German military base in the Germania region has been bustling with activity. The sound of engines filled the air as planes and helicopters took off, and the hum of trucks and tanks added to the din. Soldiers lined up to board planes and Armoured Personnel Carrier, their expressions solemn and determined.
General Field Marshal Walter Model, wearing a gray coat over his uniform, stood on the tarmac surveying the scene, his eyes hard and unblinking. His reputation was one of unwavering discipline and resolve. Model's gaze swept across the skyline, taking in the activity around him. The smoke from a plane taking off trailed behind it in a plume, and the smell of fuel was heavy in the air. Soldiers marched in formation, their boots echoing on the tarmac. It was a sight to behold, but Model knew that this was no ordinary deployment—they were headed into war.
——
Private Peter stood in formation on the tarmac at the military airport, his face a mask of stoic determination. Like many Wehrmacht soldiers, he was born in the countryside of Magna Germania. He inherited his father's profession and joined the army to receive closed military training. He had little interest in politics, and even less in war. Peter had only two goals in life: to serve his country and to prove himself to his superiors.
"Today National Socialist Germany is in its greatest crisis!" one of his officers shouted to them over the noise of departing aircraft. "The world is divided between National Socialists and traitors who are not worthy of the German nation."
Peter listened with a grim expression on his face, his back straight and his chest puffed out. Private Peter watched as soldiers loaded their weapons and equipment onto the waiting planes and tanks. He glanced at his fellow soldiers, their faces tense with anticipation. Private Peter's gaze rested on Sergeant Major Holz, a grizzled veteran with a weathered face and stern eyes.
"We are ordered to defend our nation against the enemies that want to destroy it! We are ordered to fight for a bright future!" the officer continued. "The SS plotted a coup! The Reich Chancellor was killed and the army could not protect our nation! Now the German people have to face these dangers alone!"
Private Peter felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. He was an ordinary soldier, but he knew that he was fighting for a noble cause. He was fighting for his country, and for the future of all Germans.
"Germany is in danger!" The officer's voice rose with emotion. "But we will not give up! We will fight with all our strength to defend our homeland and our National Socialism!"
——
Wilderness on the outskirts of Germania
Looking at the humans on the ground under the scorching sun, they look like a swarm of ants. The foreign workers are wearing Organization Todt armband overalls.
Organization Todt was a technical department established by the Nazi Germany regime during that engaged in the construction of various military facilities including bunkers, roads, dams, and canals. Nowadays, its work has expanded to include the construction of highways and bridges in Nazi Germany, including those on the occupied territories.
Some members of the German Labor Corps wore brown shirts or jackets with swastikas on their armbands; they supervised and oversaw the laborers in twos and threes, sometimes torturously, and one member of the German Labor Corps was in charge of the guards for every sixteen laborers; and although twenty years ago the labor work was originally done by these Germans of the German Labor Corps, from 1940 onwards they have been acting more and more as supervisors for no pay. The German laborers were the guards.
Among the workers who were forced to work on the Germania, there are some with grayish-white hair and faces full of wrinkles who should not be doing such physically demanding work. Looking at such elderly men among the forced labor, they can be roughly divided into two groups. One group is like ancient trees, strong and tenacious, and cannot be removed; the other is a group of old people with little or no physical strength, who cannot persist in working under the scorching sun for a long time.
However, despite their age and frailty, these elderly men have one thing in common: their eyes are like burning flames. They work hard and stubbornly, never complaining or showing any sign of weakness. One by one they stopped and looked in the same direction in consternation, as rows and rows of armored transports drove toward the city on the nearby Deutsche Highway.
The convoy of military vehicles drove through the wilderness at high speed, with flags flying in the wind. The dust raised by the vehicles covered the road like a rolling tide, and the roar of the engines drowned out all other sounds. The drivers wore cap-shaped helmets and visors, and a standard insignia representing an eagle that was clasped in its claws an edelweiss flower could be seen on the top of their helmets.
The convoy consisted of five armored personnel carriers, two infantry carriers, and a logistics vehicle. Each vehicle was painted in the familiar olive green camouflage pattern of the Wehrmacht. The vehicles were clearly in excellent condition and appeared well maintained. The tires drive at top speed across the highway until the final hurdle.
All the vehicles stopped and the Wehrmacht soldiers got out one by one in their camouflage uniforms to face the Waffen SS blockade barrier. The SS soldiers guarding the Reich's frontier were dressed in their black uniforms. Each held a rifle and wore a bullet-proof vest. They were a fearsome sight to behold. Their leader stepped forward and began shouting orders at the Wehrmacht soldiers. "What are you doing here? This is a restricted area!"
A Wehrmacht sergeant major Holz stepped forward and saluted. "By order of the High Command, the Wehrmacht took over the defense of Germania and imposed military martial law. Where do your orders come from?!"
The SS officer glared at Holz and sneered, "What's your rank? You can't even salute properly. How dare you tell me what to do?!"
Sergeant Major Holz bristled but stayed calm. "I'm here by order of the Reich's Chancellor and Supreme Commander!"
The SS officer spat on the ground. "The Reich Chancellor? Traitors and criminals! And who do you think you are? Get out of here!"
Sergeant Major Holz took a step forward and roared in the SS officer's face. "Who am I? I am a member of the Wehrmacht and loyal to Germany! Fuck off! Otherwise you're participating in Himmler's coup!"
The SS officer glared at Sergeant Major Holz. His gaze turned murderous and he drew his gun. Before he could pull the trigger, Sergeant Major Holz's men had their weapons aimed at him. Similarly, the Waffen SS soldiers were aiming their guns from inside their bunkers.
"Attention! Attention! Attention!" A sharp voice suddenly echoed from a loudspeaker installed on one of the Waffen SS bunkers. "This is a formal declaration of martial law by the Wehrmacht! All units are under strict orders to immediately remove their blockade barricades and let the Wehrmacht's units through! Failure to comply will be considered a hostile act against the Reich and will be treated accordingly!"
The Waffen SS officer waved his hand and the barrier was removed immediately. The Wehrmacht convoy rushed into the city like a river in flood.