Disclaimer: No, I still don't own any of the Hellsing characters: they're the property of Mr Hirano, nor, somewhat suprisingly, do I own Adolf Hitler.
Anyone who has a problem with me featuring Hitler (and there's always someone) write your problems on a post card and mail them to Mossad, cus I don't give a damn.
Anyway, on to the story, this is one of my creaky old one shots - like 'Passover', that I found, edited until death, then put up as my current two whole stories look a bit sad on there own. I might write more to it, I might not. I figured it fits nicely in before Warcraft I.
Berlin, April 1945
Reaching the Reichstag had been no mean feat for the cluster of embattled figures sprinting through the formerly manicured gardens at the heart of the crumbling Reich. They had struggled through ruins and sporadic pockets of combat for the last two days, only travelling at night to avoid the swarms of Soviet fighter-bombers prowling the skies above the capital.
This was not how the last hope of the Aryan race was accustomed to travelling. A shell impacted a dozen metres from them in a shower of sodden earth, and all but one of the figures was punched from their feet by the shockwave. The Captain, immovable even by the force of Russian shell fire, heaved his commanding officer back to his feet. The Major's two aids, carrying his briefcase and radio, remained face-down in the polluted mud, their bodies horribly shredded by white-hot shrapnel. The Major had but an instant to register this, a pity he thought, for all his callousness he appreciated the merits of a fine officer, before his huge bodyguard pulled him onwards and into the shelter of the concrete blockhouse which protected the entrance to the Fuhrerbunker. Inside, a dozen SS troopers of the Charlemagne division clustered around a stairwell. Their very presence reminded him, as if he needed to be, of the decaying state of the Reich, that Frenchmen would be trusted, or needed, to guard the Fuhrer!
The Captain elbowed his way through the press, clearing a path for his commander to reach the stairs. The two of them then descended into the bunker proper, the grim concrete stairwell soon giving way to an even grimmer reception area where a single SS staff officer took their weapons and directed them into a wide tunnel which led deeper into the earth, towards the command centre. As the little Major and his enormous bodyguard entered the tunnel, they were confronted with, not the pulsing heart of Germanic resistance, but rather; a field hospital. The entire passageway was packed with wounded soldiers, dismal and dirty from the fighting in the streets.
The two of them jostled through the injured and the dying, the Major could see that the few remaining nurses were reduced to merely watching over the dying, and that the even smaller number of surviving doctors both civilian and military were, bereft of equipment, operating right there on the floor, with a dozen men looking nonchalantly on. Between the screams and the dull thump of shell fire above the Major caught snatches of conversation, which generally revolved around one of two topics: escape or suicide. It seemed that the sisters of fate had not smiled on Germany this day. Both of them had seen more than their fair share of field hospitals, so they were neither perturbed nor surprised by what they saw. They were, however, somewhat disturbed as they entered the bunker itself, which not only served as command post for the whole of the city, but also as headquarters for the entirety of the now shattered Wehrmacht. A score of the Fuhrer's staff officers, the once formidable Prussian High Command, now reduced to a gaggle of pathetic 'yes men', lay around the lobby. Some were in various states of undress with evacuated women from the chancellery; all were blind drunk and most were laughing and raucously singing a slurred rendition of 'Das Lied der Deutschen'.
One of them even presumed to offer the Captain a seat, waving for him to sit down 'The Russians are coming', he yelled over the din 'have a drink!'
The massive bodyguard brushed him off and he proceeded into the conference hall beyond, stopping to allow the Major to pass before him. A chorus of drunken 'Seig Heil's' echoed from the lobby as he slammed the heavy iron door closed behind him. The surreal nature of the whole sorry situation in the Fuhrerbunker was truly obvious to the Major when he passed from the drunken officers of the last area, to the meeting room, now populated by the entirety of the Goebbels family. The six children were clustered on the map table listening to one of the Fuhrer's secretaries retailing them with some archaic fairytale. Otto Gunsche, Hitler's own adjutant and bodyguard, stepped forward to block any further progress as they arrived.
At least someone remained on duty, the Major considered wryly. The Major cut Gunsche off before he could speak -'We have an appointment with the Fuhrer'.
'He has requested not to be disturbed, he is meeting with General Weidling', the bodyguard replied.
'Is that so adjutant?'
Otto nodded the affirmative.
'Tell him that the representative from Millennium has arrived'.
Otto visibly paled, nodded again and hastily ducked into the Fuhrer's private quarters. As the two of them waited for him to return, the Major noted the secretary glancing towards them over the book she was reading to the children. Or, more specifically, at the hulking figure standing behind him. He had seen that look before, many times, some people could just feel that there was something 'wrong' about the Captain.
That he was not quite...human.
The Major grinned and nodded slowly at her, which prompted her to return her full attention to the children and their story. Otto returned quickly, opening the blast door that separated the Fuhrer's small suite of rooms from the rest of the bunker and gestured for them to enter. The Captain remained in the conference room as the Major strode past Otto and into the Fuhrer's cramped living area. General Weilding and his staff slipped past him as he entered, more than one looking a little put out at being removed for the sake of a lowly Major. Adolf Hitler looked more haggard than he had done the last time the Major had met with him, in 1944, if that were possible. His hair was now streaked with grey, he hunched over himself, as would a cripple, and he clutched his own right hand to prevent it from trembling. He sat in a deep, overstuffed, armchair and gazed up at a portrait hanging on the wall to the Major's right.
Fredrick the Great, he quickly realised with a measured smile.
The Fuhrer only reluctantly pulled himself from his revere to acknowledge the Major's enthusiastic salute, it was best to be enthusiastic around Hitler, no matter how competent you were, as some of Germany's best leaders had discovered to their cost. The Fuhrer motioned for him to sit, which he quickly did. 'Sturmbahnfuhrer, it is reassuring to see you again…how go your preparations?'
'The last plane left for Argentina this morning, mein Fuhrer, only myself and the Captain remain'.
Hitler nodded slowly.
'You are our last hope, Sturmbanfuhrer, the last hope of National Socialism. The people of Germany have failed, the Slavic horde and the Jewish puppets in the West have proved themselves the stronger, but you, you shall not fail'.
'No, mein Fuhrer – I shall not'.
Hitler once again nodded slowly, feebly.
'Have you progressed further with your research?'
'Regrettably, no mein Fuhrer', the Major answered. 'The British...incursion, destroyed much of our equipment, our test subjects and many of the Doctors records and notes'.
The Fuhrer, once again, nodded.
'This is our Gotterdamerung Sturmbahnfuhrer...and you are our Siegfried'. Hitler turned to look at the Major. 'They will forget us, Sturmbahnfuhrer, the world. We will become faded pictures on news reels and half remembered words in half read books'.
He shook his head, sadly.
'But you'he continued 'will remind them. Destroy the enemies of Germany, Sturmbahnfuhrer, show them no mercy, show them that we will not go quietly into the pages of history' he slammed his fist down on the table before him, 'and start with the British'.
The Major allowed himself a grim smile 'Gladly, mein Fuhrer'. The Major stood to leave,
'One more thing Sturmbahnfuhrer'. Hitler paused and raised himself from his chair, slowly and painfully.
'Yesterday, Henrich betrayed us to the British and Americans. He offered peace in my name via the Swiss. He is a coward and a defeatist'.
The Major's jaw tightened in anger. The coward! And his own direct superior at that! 'Kill him for me Sturmbahnfuhrer'.
'I will deal with it personally, mein Fuhrer', he replied.
Hitler raised his arm in salute. The Major reciprocated with a somewhat ironic, given the circumstances, 'Seig Heil', turned and marched from the room.