Paul stood under the branches of an oak tree, leaning against the trunk to shield himself from most of the rain. His gaze was fixed on his hand, specifically on his ring finger. Slowly, he twisted the ring back and forth, lost in thought.
Gustaf stood only meters away, also leaning against a tree. A cigarette hung from his lips, its flame barely alive in the downpour.
Then something rustled. Paul did not turn, he knew Gustaf would. Quiet steps echoed through the small forest clearing.
"Canaris," Paul said without looking.
"How did you know it was me?" the older man asked. His grey coat clung to him, hat pulled low over his face.
"Come to the point," Paul said, his fingers releasing the ring. He finally turned to face Canaris.
"The Defense Department is ours. The airport is ours. The party central is ours. The Chancellery, just reported, is ours too. Only one piece remains for Berlin to be ours," Canaris began, then paused as he noticed Paul's gaze.
"Ours, Canaris?" Paul asked, exhaling shallowly and stepping forward. Gustaf mirrored him.
"I do not plan for a democracy," Paul said. "Nor for a monarchy. I plan for absolutism. That is the only way for Germany to survive."
Canaris nodded slowly, his triumphant smile fading under the cold weight of Paul's logic.
"What of Bormann?" Paul asked.
While Canaris answered, Paul's tanks were already rolling. His own tank led the column, Paul sitting inside at the helm. Soon, they reached the barriers Rommel's forces had erected. The officer in charge saluted before letting them pass into the heart of Berlin. Darkness and uncertainty cloaked the city, while ignorance still ruled within the Reichstag.
With every building passed, every window glimpsed, the air grew heavier. Occasionally, Wehrmacht soldiers, from the garrison or loyal detachments, saluted. They became sparser the deeper Paul's tanks drove into the center.
Then, in the distance, Paul saw it for the first time that night. Not through binoculars or maps, but with his own eyes. The majestic columns, the stately stone architecture of the Reichstag.
With a quiet, simple gesture, Paul raised his hand. The tanks behind him slowed, then stopped entirely.
Paul climbed down from his tank, straightening his uniform. He tapped his General's hat lightly before placing it squarely on his head. Behind him, a group of soldiers assembled while the rest remained in their vehicles. Their identities were unknown. Only careful searching would reveal scattered death certificates. They had lost everything: families, morals, lives. Joining Paul's ghost squad had gained them nothing tangible. Gustaf was among them, his gaze the hardest, the most determined.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The sounds of their march faded under the rainfall. They moved over the deserted streets, Paul walking in the middle, seemingly alone. The soldiers spread out behind him across the wide road.
They reached the steps, climbing in silence. Thunder streaked across the sky behind them, illuminating their backs.
At the final step, Paul stopped. A quiet voice sounded. The corpse of an SS soldier lay against the wall, drenched in blood. From behind one of the pillars, a man appeared, clad in a soaked black leather jacket. Behind him, a dozen others in identical attire followed. The doors opened slowly as another man stepped through, dressed the same.
"Heydrich," Paul said, extending his hand.
"Heinrich," Heydrich replied, shaking it firmly.
The two men paused as Gestapo men towed away the lifeless bodies. A small pool of blood formed beneath them. The Gestapo assumed positions where the SS guards had stood.
"We are finished. The building is under Gestapo control. The Führer remains in his office, but the session will start in a few minutes. All parliament members are already in the hall. Every seat is taken, and we quietly eliminated the last of their guards," Heydrich said, smiling with satisfaction.
Paul walked down the empty hallway. Lightning illuminated the space intermittently, casting his shadow on the walls. At the end, two Gestapo men were dragging corpses. They halted when they saw him and saluted.
"Is he still inside?" Paul whispered.
One of them nodded.
"Alone?"
Another nod.
Paul looked to the ceiling, then outside. He glanced at Gustaf behind him, then forward again. His hand found the cold metal of the door handle. With a soft click, the heavy door opened.
The Hall
Mervin looked around nervously, meeting the eyes of his fellow businessmen, seated among the NSDAP members. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. He reached for his cloth to wipe it, but it was already soaked.
"Are you okay?" a man beside him asked, dressed neatly in a suit.
"Of course. I am looking forward to the Führer's speech," Mervin said, laughing nervously, almost ironically.
The man shrugged. Mervin turned to a friend on his left and leaned close.
"It should be happening now," he whispered, showing his watch.
The man nodded, exchanging a nervous glance.
"Oh God, may this gamble save us. May it save our companies and our country. May we be on the right side of history," he whispered, folding his hands between his legs.
Minutes passed. Mervin checked his watch again, exhaled, and nodded at the man. Slowly, he rose. His friend followed, and other isolated members stood as well.
The Office
"JAEGER?" Hitler exclaimed, eyes wide with confusion as the familiar face appeared between the heavy doors. He rose from his seat.
Paul did not respond or look at Hitler. He quietly closed the door behind him. The thunder outside muted.
"My Führer," Paul said, his voice void of emotion.
"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at the front? Paris? France?" Hitler asked, suspicious. Paul advanced step by step.
A thunder echoed.
Stillness.
"You know you will destroy this country. You will be remembered as the worst dictator of all time. Probably the worst person," Paul said as he closed in.
"What are you talking about, Jaeger? Why are you speaking so strangely?" Hitler asked, backing away.
Paul stopped, eyes on the table. A small box lay open, an Iron Cross nestled in red velvet. Beside it, two stripes marked the insignia of a Generalleutnant.
Paul smiled lightly, then laughed.
"Life is full of surprises. Full of twists and turns. Like today," he said, moving closer. "Look outside. The world is crying."
Hitler shook his head.
"What?" he muttered.
Paul drew a knife from his back. He reached Hitler and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hitler turned, inches from him. Horror filled his eyes as the knife entered his stomach. Paul tightened his grip and stabbed again. Hitler panted, legs giving way, collapsing pathetically.
Paul turned from him and took the Iron Cross, caressing the metal before fixing it to his collar. He replaced the insignia of a Generalmajor with Generalleutnant.
"This would have belonged to me either way," he said. Hitler dragged himself across the floor, throwing papers and a lamp.
Paul pulled a fountain pen and paper from his breast pocket.
"A fountain pen?" he murmured. Searching the drawers, he crouched beside Hitler.
"Sign it," he said.
Hitler raised his hand, leaning on the other, and slowly moved toward the paper, then shoved it away.
"How unexpected," Paul said coldly. Rain and thunder outside mirrored the moment Hitler drew his last breath.
Paul crouched, dipped the pen into the blood pool, and signed the paper.
A. Hitler
He turned toward the window, hands behind his back. After a moment, he left quietly. Footsteps and creaking wood echoed.
In the blood and debris, a small box had opened. A yellowed dice lay in the crimson sea. Its number: six. Slowly, the pool of blood swallowed it entirely.
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