Chapter 127
Chapter 127
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: The End of the War (1)
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On April 12, 1945, U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt, who had just won a fourth term, died suddenly while at a hot spring.
The cause of death was a heart attack.
“Excellency! Excellency!”
Goebbels rushed to inform Hitler of this astonishing news.
“America’s old monster is finally dead. Now that the monster is gone, Washington will make peace with us. And then Your Excellency can become a second Frederick the Great and save Germany from the brink of defeat.”
As Goebbels recounted the Miracle of the House of Brandenburg, Hitler could not hide his childlike joy.
The Miracle of the House of Brandenburg referred to the event where Prussia’s Frederick the Great, cornered to the point of suicide by a trio of female rulers—Madame de Pompadour of France, Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, and Empress Elizabeth of Russia—miraculously revived upon Elizabeth’s sudden death.
At the time, Frederick the Great had been saved when Peter III, who succeeded Elizabeth, offered unconditional peace and massive mercenary support. This allowed him to rise from the ashes, crush Austria, and stage a comeback.
Hitler, who loved comparing himself to Frederick the Great, took note of this eerie coincidence.
If he had been born with Frederick’s fate, then a second Peter III would emerge in America.
Germany and America would reconcile, forming an alliance to stand tall against the Bolsheviks in the East.
Hitler could not contain his excitement at this rare glimpse of a reversal.
“Didn’t I always say the West would eventually make peace with us?”
It didn’t matter if that filthy Eastern monster, Yi Seong-jun, refused to join hands.
As long as the Anglo-Americans took Germany’s side, a comeback was entirely possible.
For the first time since the move, a warm atmosphere filled the Führerbunker, which had been shrouded in gloom.
“Shall we prepare a party?”
“That wouldn’t be bad. Make it so.”
Surprisingly, the Führer accepted the suggestion from his mistress, Eva Braun.
People danced and drank in the merry mood.
The Führer’s young secretaries mingled with the bunker’s officers, dancing and enjoying moments of romance.
But reality outside the bunker was merciless.
Soviet forces had crossed the Oder-Neisse line—the final defensive front—and were assaulting the Seelow Heights, while the Western Allies flew bombers day and night to pulverize Berlin’s ruins.
Everyone knew it.
All of this was Hitler’s delusion, and reality offered no dreams or hope.
But they wanted to forget it all, if only for a moment.
Otherwise, it was impossible to endure.
The brief happiness lasted exactly two days.
“What? Field Marshal Model committed suicide, and the Ruhr encirclement’s forces have all surrendered?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“And Field Marshal Rommel surrendered to the Korean Army in Bavaria.”
Defeat reports flooded in from all directions.
It was the usual occurrence, but the names of the fallen generals were too great.
Walter Model, known as the Firefighter of the Reich.
Gotthard Heinrici.
One of the few remaining masters of defensive warfare on the Eastern Front.
Erwin Rommel.
The commander the Führer trusted most.
Such generals had collapsed, leaving behind reports of defeat.
Hitler flew into a hysterical rage.
“Just hold on a little longer—a little longer—and everything will change. Can’t you hold out even a month?”
No one could tolerate Hitler’s nerves anymore.
The Führer rarely smiled now.
“Excellency. This boy destroyed two Soviet tanks.”
“Good. You’ve done splendid work. Young as you are, you’ve acted like a true Germanic warrior. Bring the Iron Cross for this boy.”
The Führer pinned an Iron Cross on the little boy who had taken out two tanks amid the street fighting, then sent him back into the madness of war.
The point at which the Nazis were relying on children like him meant they were already finished.
Hitler might not realize it, but his inner circle fully grasped that Berlin was doomed.
Playing along with his fantasies any longer put their lives at risk.
The first to flee was Hermann Göring, the Reich’s number two and Hitler’s designated successor.
“Führer, I’ll gather 100,000 men for Berlin.”
Next was Albert Speer.
“I must go to northern Germany to oversee the destruction of industrial facilities.”
Finally, Himmler.
Himmler slipped away quietly without even a pretext.
Hitler flew into a true fury at this betrayal.
The man who had always offered ironclad loyalty had betrayed him in the ugliest way.
If even his closest aides were like this, the rest needed no mention.
People escaped the bunker silently every day.
Among them was the Führer’s brother-in-law, Fegelein.
“Fegelein! Fegelein!”
Hitler ordered Fegelein’s execution the moment he was found.
That same day, tragic news arrived.
“Führer, the Duce has been murdered by Italians!”
Hitler was deeply shocked by the news of Mussolini’s death, the godfather of Fascism.
In the increasingly quiet bunker, Hitler turned 56.
“Happy 56th birthday, Excellency.”
“Happy birthday, Excellency.”
“Thank you all.”
Boom! Crash!
As if celebrating the Führer’s birthday, the Allies unleashed bombers while the Soviets brought up heavy artillery to pound Berlin.
Berlin screamed in agony, as if dropped into the heart of a boiling hell.
A faint smell like sulfur drifted in through the Führerbunker’s air vents.
At the epicenter of that hell, Hitler thought.
It was late, but he decided to accept reality.
He was not the Übermensch destined to lead the Germanic race to victory.
Rather, that bastard might be the one who fit the description.
“Thank you all for your hard work at my side until now.”
Once he admitted everything honestly, his mind felt at ease.
Hitler looked around, then resolved to put his life in order.
As Yi Seong-jun had said, he just needed to take responsibility and end it.
But first, there was something to do.
Hitler permitted a wedding for Eva Braun, who had withered away gazing only at him for so long.
“Really?”
“Yes. Call me Hitler no longer—from now on, call me ‘you.’”
After granting Eva Braun’s wish, the Führer decided to reward his loyal aides to the end.
“Now, once everything is settled, leave this place.”
The Führer granted them the right not to meet their end at his side.
“Fräulein Traudl. You’ve worked hard.”
The Führer bid farewell to his secretaries, the bunker officers, Party Secretary Martin Bormann, the Goebbels family.
“When I die, just see to the cremation of my body.”
At least, Hitler did not want to end up like Mussolini, his corpse desecrated.
Hanging like butcher’s meat at a gas station—that was too much.
“We will.”
After his final farewell, the Führer entered the room with Eva Braun.
Eva Braun gazed at him with a complex expression of joy and sorrow, then poured cyanide into her mouth.
Moments later, she convulsed and collapsed.
The Führer hesitated, then took a pistol in hand.
Was I, who thought myself the savior of the German people, truly a failure?
As Hitler closed his eyes, his life flashed before him like a panorama.
Memories of being born the son of a customs official, living a life of idle wealth, and the dreamlike times with his niece Geli Raubal, whom he would never see again.
Perhaps he should have left for her side long ago.
“Raubal.”
Murmuring the name of the woman he had long forgotten, Hitler bit down on the cyanide.
Then he put the pistol to his temple.
Bang!
A gunshot echoed in the room. Five minutes later, Bormann cautiously opened the door and announced to the others.
“Everyone, our Führer has just passed away.”
With those words, the last restraints on everyone vanished.
The officers immediately pulled out cigarettes and lit up.
Cigarettes they could never enjoy under the Führer before.
As the people smoked, the Goebbels family prepared their end.
“Kids, get ready for some candy.”
Bormann chose escape over dying at the Führer’s side.
Most of the rest followed Bormann’s lead and fled.
No one knew what would happen, but staying in Berlin was suicide.
Helmuth Weidling, commander of the Berlin Defense Forces and artillery general, learned of the Führer’s death late due to the bunker’s complicated situation.
“The Führer is dead?”
Then what were the rest of them supposed to do?
Suddenly, the fate of the capital fell on his shoulders.
He had no confidence in bearing such a heavy burden.
Weidling dithered, unable to decide.
After agonizing, he finally ordered surrender.
“On April 30, 1945, the Führer abandoned those loyal to him and departed. You have been loyal to the Führer and the Fatherland, ready to fight even without supplies. But further resistance is meaningless. I order an immediate cessation of hostilities. Every hour of continued fighting will only increase the suffering of Berlin’s civilians and soldiers. Per agreement with Soviet headquarters, I order a halt to combat now.”
On May 2, 1945, most German defenders ceased fighting upon Weidling’s order.
But many refused to give up.
“We can’t surrender to the Ivans. We’re heading west.”
A band of fighters centered on the last Tigers fought fiercely to break through a narrow path to Berlin’s west.
“Deputy, the tracks are gone.”
“If the turret’s alive, it doesn’t matter. Keep firing!”
These ragged remnants, fewer than 400 strong, displayed superhuman combat prowess to pierce the Soviet encirclement.
Through that narrow gap, thousands of civilians and soldiers mingled in a desperate final escape.
Soviet bullets rained down on the mass crossing the Spree River.
Amid the dead and dying, Martin Bormann—one of the Nazi Reich’s top leaders—screamed and fell.
With this final group, the Germans vanished completely.
The Federation had won.
In the fascists’ beastly capital.
A Soviet officer declared victory to the troops gathered before the Reichstag.
“Great comrades of the Federation. Today the fascists are defeated, and we stand as victors. Let us honor the many comrades who could not share this glorious victory. Soviet hurrah!”
“Hurrah! Hurrah!”
The Soviets were intoxicated by the sweet taste of victory after the brutal war.
They immediately exercised the victor’s rights.
By traditional custom (pre-modern), occupiers could loot and revel freely in a conquered city for three days.
Soviet high command did not officially recognize it, but tacitly allowed it.
Ruthless rapes and looting broke out across Berlin.
“Woman, come here. Come on!”
“P-please, spare me.”
Soviet soldiers dragged any woman in a skirt into dark alleys for violation.
It was payback for the crimes Germany had committed on Soviet soil.
And the price Germany would pay was far from over.
The retribution they would face was still vast.