Chapter 1: In the Bunker

It is April 30, 1945. The war in Europe is at its peak. The Soviets, British, Americans, French, and Germans are suffering massive casualties along with several other Allies and Axis Powers. For German forces, the war began as a success, but after the German invasion of the Soviet Union optimism had been slowly declining. Adolf Hitler had become even more sadistic and even farther progressed in megalomania than he had been at the dawn of the war.

An aged German man is huddled together with his young and attractive newlywed on the couch in a plain room. It’s midday, but it’s impossible to tell. There are no windows in this underground bunker. The man tested a poison on his favorite dog earlier that day and the time came when he realized he would have to meet the same fate. He bid a sorrowful farewell to his countrymen. He thanked them and retreats to his private quarters taking his wife by the hand. Now he is huddled there, waiting to gain the courage. He pulls a pill out of his pocket and hands it to his wife. “Swallow this,” he orders. She nods and grabs the pill. Bravely, she swallows the deadly gift. She looks into his eyes, kisses him, and lies down to sleep for one last time.

The German man pulls out a Walther PPK pistol and holds it up to his head. His hand trembles wildly as he starts to put pressure on the trigger. “No. I cannot give up.” He stares at his love’s dead body. “Goodbye, Eva.” The man rushes into his bathroom and pulls out a small razor. In front of the mirror, he slashes off his signature mustache. He violently pulls open the cabinet and grabs some peroxide. He messily douses his hair, bleaching it blonde. The German winks at himself in the mirror. “Goebbels!” He bellows.

“Führer!” Another man yells as he slams through the door. The new arrival is thin and gaunt. His nose is the most prominent feature about him. He looks as if his long lost ancestors may have been weasels. He spots the newly blonde haired facial hairless man and shrieks. “Who the hell are you?” Goebbels yells. “Where is the Führer?”

“Goebbels, it is me,” the Führer spouts.

“What have you done to yourself? Why are you… not… gone?”

“I’ve had a change of heart. I don’t think this is the end. I don’t think we are as cornered as we seem. We can get out of this.”

“Adolf… you cannot. Stalin’s men are in Berlin and so are America’s. We are done for.”

“No. Buck up. Shave your head bald. Use this shaver,” he orders. Adolf hands him the razor off of the counter. Goebbels retreats to the bathroom as Hitler shouts orders from the bedroom. “We will be the only survivors in the bunker. They will kill the others. There are so many rooms in this bunker that by usual military standards, they will send only a few men into this room. They will see Eva and assume me dead at which point we will rise out from the bathroom and kill them. We will trade their clothes. I shall use some of your hair to craft a mustache for one of them. The dopey sluggish officers will assume it to be me. We will be able to slip out of Berlin unseen.” Goebbels peeks his head out of the bathroom, half shaven.

“And then what, Adolf? They will figure it out eventually.”

“That is simple. We remain in hiding and we…”

“What?”

“Assassinate Stalin. First, there are a few key SS members that we should save from certain doom. Are you ready? I may hear gunfire…”

“Done." The two scurry into the bathroom as the door clicks open.

“Come!” A soldier shouts. Hitler observes intently that there are two sets of footsteps, just as he predicted. “The bitch is dead, Anton.”

“Where’s the dog?” Anton, the other Soviet, asks.

“Bathroom, most likely. Stay out here and make sure he’s not in any closets. I’ll check for his body.” The Russian soldier didn’t make it two feet into the bathroom before Goebbels springs up and slit the man’s throat. The kill is practically silent. Anton is searching through a dresser for valuables.

“Wait,” Hitler whispers. “It has to look like a suicide.” The two creep up behind him and catch him in a chokehold. Hitler holds the gun up to Anton’s temple just as the Führer had planned to do to himself. He pulls the trigger and blood splatters all over the wooden closet. Goebbels carries both men into the bathroom and undresses them. They don their Soviet uniforms and leave the room. Adolf takes one last look at the cold body of Eva Braun. Soviets are everywhere, but they think nothing of Hitler and Goebbels. The two make it out of the secure bunker as if the Soviets were their own men. As the two Germans climb the stairs leading to Berlin, they hear Soviet chatter.

“Here he is! It’s Hitler! In the bathroom! The bitch is in here too! They’re dead! That German son of a bitch is dead!”

“Bring the fucker outside! Let’s burn him!” The doors to the bunker swing open vigorously. The light, which had become a rare visitor to Adolf, is blinding to the men. The skies are filled with smoke. Hitler and Goebbels quickly procure one motorcycle with a sidecar and speed off out of Berlin, free at last.