A thousand suns

Dr Hauser sat uncomfortably on a wooden chair in the ante-room outside the Fuhrer’s small study. Eva, his wife of only a few hours, was with him inside. The door was closed, but through it he could hear the murmur of her voice, soothing, consoling like a mother to a child. Every now and then he heard his voice, deeper, but high as a man keening. It sounded like he was crying, whimpering. Every time he heard this, her voice quickly followed, swiftly saying whatever it was she needed to say.

Hauser felt his stomach churn, he felt nauseous.

It disturbed him that this magnificent man could sound so frail, so vulnerable. Germany needed him to continue being strong, especially now. It was not the time for tears. The man had the strength of a lion; surely it wasn’t possible for these mewling noises to be coming from him, the same whimpering sound that the Jew Schenkelmann had made on his knees.

Hauser had arrived only half an hour ago. The journey up from the airfield had taken much longer than he had anticipated and it had been touch and go as to whether he would be able to safely make it inside the bunker. The few dozen men left of Hitler’s Leibstandarte and a pathetic company of boys in oversized Wehrmacht uniforms had been pulled into a tight defensive knot around the ruins of the Reich Chancellery. Hauser’s driver had only managed to get the truck within a mile of the bunker, and from there, accompanied by the six SS guards he had brought with him from the airfield, he had picked his way through the ruined maze of buildings towards the bunker. More than once, they had been shot at in the dark and Hauser and his men had had to call out that they weren’t Russians. The soldiers guarding the Reich Chancellery had attempted to turn Hauser away, telling him that no one else was being permitted access to the bunker. Hauser had eventually managed to convince one of them to call through on the entrance phone, and after a few minutes’ delay he was told he could make his way down below and into the bunker; his SS guards ordered to help the others defend the perimeter.

The bunker seemed far quieter than he remembered from his visit just over a week ago. As he passed by the Goebbels’ rooms he caught a glimpse of the man, recently promoted to General Plenipotentiary for Total War, sitting beside a bed where his wife lay sleeping fitfully. Goebbels had turned to look at him briefly, a drawn look of futility and resignation on his face.

In the second room he could hear the voices of their children talking quietly. This time there were no games going on, no chatter, no laughing. He had noticed, as he had been led towards the Fuhrer’s study, that the bunker was starting to look less ordered. He passed in the hallway two generals seated opposite each other in a nook, clearly drunk. They stared in bemusement at him as Frau Jung led him by. Hauser could only stare back at them with contempt.

The young woman had seated him in the ante-room. She said Hitler had been expecting him since lunchtime to join him in celebration. It was clear from the puzzled look on her face that she had no idea what it was Hitler was planning to celebrate. Now, listening to the murmurings through the wooden door, the Fuhrer’s mood seemed to have swung from a positive demeanour only a few hours ago to one of desperation.

Ahead of him he could see through an open door into Eva Braun’s sitting room. The German Shepherd he had seen last time was on the bed again, asleep without a care in the world.

He heard movement from inside Hitler’s study, and a moment later the door opened, and Eva Braun emerged. She smiled politely at Hauser and then turned and put her head round the door. He heard her inform Hitler that Hauser was waiting outside, and then she drifted past and walked into her sitting room.

‘Blondi, out, please,’ she muttered, roughly pushing the sleeping dog off and closing the door behind her as it stepped sluggishly outside.

Hauser waited a further minute or so before he heard Hitler mumble, ‘Come in.’ He stood up and cautiously entered the study.

Hitler was sitting behind his small desk; the light from the desk lamp shone across his tired face and picked out puffy, red eyes. He gestured with his trembling left hand, clearly no longer attempting to conceal it, towards the guest chair opposite the desk.

‘Please, sit down.’

‘Thank you, my Fuhrer,’ said Hauser dutifully as he sat down.

This time Hitler was wearing his uniform, the formal tan tunic Hauser had seen his leader wear in countless movie reels, but it looked scruffy and crumpled with several faint food stains down the front.

‘I was hoping we would have received word from the Americans some time this afternoon,’ he said, his voice wavering slightly.

‘Yes, it would seem they are cutting things a little fine, my Fuhrer.’

Hitler nodded. ‘It seems they haven’t taken my threat seriously.’

‘Then they soon will, I assure you.’