Betrayal in the Führerbunker I Story By Navoneer, 12, Kolkata

Betrayal in the Führerbunker

April 23, 1945—The Führerbunker

The bunker’s walls seemed to pulse with the growing sense of despair. Each boom from the Soviet artillery outside was a reminder that Berlin was on the verge of collapse. But that wasn’t the only reason the tension was unbearable. Inside, where Adolf Hitler had retreated with his closest confidants, betrayal hung in the air like a dark cloud.

I, Anthony, had been given the unenviable task of delivering some of the most damning news of the war—news that would break the Führer’s already fragile state of mind. Having served loyally for years, I was used to the hierarchy, the unbending chain of command. But today, the weight of what I carried in my hands felt too heavy to bear.

The dimly lit corridor leading to Hitler’s private quarters seemed longer than usual. Each step echoed like the beat of a drum before a public execution. I knew what awaited me on the other side of the door—rage, disbelief, and perhaps even violence.

I pushed open the door, stepping into the Führer’s war room, where Hitler stood hunched over a map of Berlin. His hands shook, not from age or frailty, but from a fury that had been simmering for months. The war was all but lost, but Hitler refused to accept the reality.

“Mein Führer,” I said, snapping to attention with a salute, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to remain composed.

Hitler glanced up, his sunken eyes narrowing at the sight of me. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse, laden with irritation.

I stepped forward, feeling the heavy burden of the news I was about to deliver. “Mein Führer, there has been… a message from Berchtesgaden. From Reichsmarschall Göring.”

At the mention of Göring’s name, I saw a flicker of suspicion cross Hitler’s face. His once-most trusted lieutenant had become increasingly distant in recent weeks, and rumours of dissent had reached even my ears.

“Go on,” Hitler growled, straightening up and fixing me with a cold stare.

I took a deep breath, knowing what this would do to him. “Reichsmarschall Göring has sent a telegram, mein Führer. He believes that with Berlin encircled, you may no longer be able to lead effectively. He has requested that you transfer all power to him to take control of the Reich.”

The room went deathly silent. For a moment, it was as if time itself had frozen. Hitler stood there, his face unreadable, his fingers twitching ever so slightly. Then, in an instant, the silence was shattered.

“What?!” Hitler roared, his voice reverberating off the bunker’s concrete walls. He slammed his fists down on the table, sending maps and papers flying in every direction. “Göring dares to demand power from me? While I still breathe?”

He began pacing the room like a caged animal, his eyes wild with fury. “That fat, self-indulgent coward! He failed me with the Luftwaffe, and now he thinks he can take my power? My Reich? No !”

The anger that radiated from Hitler was terrifying. His hands trembled violently as he ranted, his voice growing more hoarse with each word. “Göring—he was supposed to be loyal. Loyal to me! But now he shows his true colours. Just like the rest of them. Just like the weak politicians who betrayed me before.”

I stood rigid, unsure whether to speak or wait for further instructions. Around me, the remaining officers, including Goebbels, Bormann, and the others, exchanged anxious glances. They knew what was coming—this was only the beginning.

After what felt like an eternity, Hitler stopped pacing and turned back to me. “What else did he say?” he demanded, his voice low but filled with venom.

I swallowed hard. The next piece of news I carried was even worse, and I wasn’t sure if Hitler could handle it. But I had no choice.

“Mein Führer,” I began slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “There is another matter. It concerns Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler.”

The mention of Himmler’s name had an immediate effect. Hitler’s expression shifted from rage to something more sinister—a cold, calculating fury.

“Himmler?” he asked, stepping closer to me, his eyes boring into mine. “What about Himmler?”

I took a deep breath, knowing that this was the moment everything would unravel. “He has… made contact with the Allies, mein Führer. He has offered to surrender Germany to the Western powers.”

For a moment, Hitler simply stared at me, as if the words hadn’t registered. Then, slowly, his face contorted into a mask of pure rage.

“Surrender?” he hissed, his voice barely audible. “Heinrich Himmler, the man who built the SS, my most loyal servant, has offered to surrender.”

I nodded, my throat dry.

“Traitor!” Hitler screamed, his voice cracking as he slammed both fists onto the table. “Himmler—Himmler! The man who swore loyalty to me above all else! And now he offers to betray me? To hand Germany over to the enemy?”

He stormed across the room, knocking over a chair as he passed. “I trusted him. I made him! And now he joins Göring in treason?”

Hitler’s fury was overwhelming. His body shook with rage, his face pale and twisted with bitterness. “First Göring, now Himmler. Is there no one left who will stand with me? Who will fight for the Reich until the end?”

As his ranting continued, I stood in silence, waiting for the storm to pass. The others in the room remained still, eyes downcast, knowing that any word spoken out of turn could ignite Hitler’s fury further.

After what felt like hours, the Führer stopped pacing and turned to me once more, his voice low and hoarse. “There are no loyal men left. No one.”

Suddenly, from the shadows, Joseph Goebbels stepped forward. His presence was always a strange comfort to Hitler, and today would be no different.

“Mein Führer,” Goebbels began softly, his voice carrying a tone of reverence. “You must remember, even in the face of these betrayals, your vision for Germany remains pure. These men—Göring, Himmler—they are weak. But you, Adolf Hitler, are the embodiment of strength. You are the true leader of the Reich, now and forever.”

strength. You are the true leader of the Reich, now and forever.”

Hitler’s eyes, still blazing with fury, softened ever so slightly as he listened. Goebbels knew how to speak to him in these moments of madness.

“Goebbels,” Hitler muttered, “loyalty… there is no more loyalty.”

Goebbels seized the moment. “Exactly, mein Führer. Their names will be forgotten in history, but you—you will be remembered as the man who stood until the very end. The man who never surrendered.”

Hitler seemed to consider his words. His anger, though still present, began to give way to contemplation. “Perhaps,” he muttered, “perhaps they are weak. Perhaps it is only loyalty that matters.”

Goebbels gave a small bow, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Loyalty to you, mein Führer. Always.”

Hitler stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Yes… perhaps you are right, Joseph.”

Goebbels’ words seemed to give Hitler a temporary respite from his fury, but the darkness in his eyes remained. He was losing control of everything around him, but his pride and delusion kept him clinging to the remnants of his shattered empire.

Herrmann Fegelein

Just as I thought I might be able to escape the Führer’s wrath, another matter came to light. Hermann Fegelein, SS-Gruppenführer and the brother-in-law of Eva Braun, had disappeared. The whispers of desertion had reached Hitler, and I was called back to report.

“Anthony!” Hitler shouted as I entered his quarters once more. His eyes were wild, his hands trembling with rage. “What do you know of Fegelein?”

I hesitated. Fegelein had always been an opportunist, more interested in luxury and power than loyalty to Hitler. And now, with the end near, it appeared that he had tried to flee Berlin.

“Mein Führer,” I began cautiously, “Fegelein was found attempting to escape Berlin. He was caught in civilian clothes, carrying false identification and a large sum of money. It appears he was trying to flee.”

Hitler’s eyes widened, and the silence in the room was deafening. He stood motionless for a moment, as if processing the enormity of the betrayal. Fegelein, a man Hitler had tolerated because of his ties to Eva Braun, had now joined the growing list of traitors.

“Fegelein,” Hitler hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible at first but growing louder with each word. “Fegelein dares to desert?” His face twisted with rage. “He was part of my inner circle! Married into Eva’s family, trusted at my side, and now he seeks to run?”

His fists clenched, and he pounded the desk in front of him, sending papers and maps flying. “This coward, this vermin, had the audacity to try and leave me, to flee like a rat while we fight for the survival of Germany.”

I stood still, knowing what was coming. The others in the room, Goebbels, Bormann, and the few remaining officers, were equally frozen in fear. No one dared speak as Hitler’s fury mounted.

“He is no better than Göring!” Hitler spat. “No better than Himmler! A traitor, just like the rest of them!”

He began pacing again, his rage building with each step. “Fegelein thought he could save himself by abandoning the Reich? Did he think we wouldn’t find him? Did he think his betrayal would go unpunished?”

I could see the strain in Hitler’s face; the way his eyes seemed to bulge with a mix of fury and desperation. His entire world was crumbling, and Fegelein’s betrayal had struck a deeply personal chord. To Hitler, it wasn’t just desertion; it was a direct attack on his honour, his trust, and his leadership.

“Where is he now?” Hitler demanded, turning sharply to face me.

“He is being held in the bunker’s security quarters, mein Führer,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tension. “He has been disarmed and awaits your orders.”

For a moment, Hitler said nothing. His breathing was heavy, and his face flushed with anger. Then, slowly and deliberately, he turned to one of the guards stationed near the door.

“Bring him to me,” Hitler growled.

The guard nodded and quickly left the room. We waited in silence, the weight of what was about to happen hanging over us like a storm. I stood rigid, unsure of what I might witness next.

After a few agonising minutes, the door opened, and Fegelein was dragged into the room by two guards. His once-pristine SS uniform had been replaced with civilian clothes, wrinkled and stained from his failed escape. His face was pale, and his eyes darted around the room in desperation, as if looking for someone—anyone—who might save him.

“Mein Führer…” Fegelein began, but his voice faltered under Hitler’s cold gaze.

“Silence!” Hitler barked, stepping forward. His face was inches from Fegelein’s, his voice low and venomous. “You dare to speak to me after what you’ve done? After trying to run?”

Fegelein stumbled over his words, his fear evident in every movement. “Mein Führer, I only wanted to—”

“To abandon your post? To abandon the Reich?” Hitler’s voice rose with every word. “You are nothing but a coward, Fegelein. A traitor, just like the rest!”

Fegelein’s eyes darted toward me for a split second, as if hoping I might intervene. But I stood still. There was nothing I could do.

“Do you know what happens to traitors, Fegelein?” Hitler continued, his voice trembling with fury. “Do you know what happens to those who turn their backs on me? You will be shot! Shot like the coward you are!”

Fegelein fell to his knees, his hands clasped together in a pitiful display of pleading. “Please, mein Führer,” he begged. “I was thinking of my wife, of Eva. I didn’t want to leave you. I only wanted to protect my family.”

“Your family?” Hitler sneered, his lip curling in disgust. “You think I care about your excuses? You think Eva would defend you now?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Fegelein’s breath hitched in his throat, and for the first time, I saw the terror truly settle into his eyes. He knew what was coming.

Without another word, Hitler turned to the guards and gestured sharply. “Take him away. Have him executed immediately.”

The guards grabbed Fegelein by the arms, dragging him to his feet. His pleas grew more frantic as they pulled him toward the door. “Mein Führer! Please! Have mercy! I beg you—”

But Hitler didn’t even look at him. His focus was on the map of Berlin, his rage now simmering below the surface, his mind already turning to the next threat.

The door slammed shut behind Fegelein, his cries for mercy muffled as he was taken away. Within hours, Fegelein was executed, shot for desertion and treason against the Reich. His death was swift, but it did little to soothe Hitler’s growing paranoia. The list of traitors had grown longer, and each name carved deeper into the Führer’s sense of betrayal.

Claus von Stauffenberg 

The shadow of betrayal had loomed over Hitler long before the final days in the bunker. Months earlier, a man from within the Wehrmacht had nearly succeeded in ending Hitler’s life—Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg. Even in these last moments, the memory of Stauffenberg’s attempt haunted the Führer.

After Fegelein’s execution, I found myself once again by Hitler’s side, watching as he brooded over his map. His rage was now tempered by something far darker—paranoia. He spoke often of the July 20 Plot, when Stauffenberg had nearly killed him at the Wolf’s Lair.

“Stauffenberg,” Hitler would mutter, almost to himself, “he was one of my officers. A man I trusted. And he planted a bomb to kill me.”

I remember the day Hitler had survived that assassination attempt. Stauffenberg had placed a briefcase filled with explosives under the conference table. The explosion was supposed to kill everyone in the room, including Hitler. But by some twist of fate, the Führer had survived, albeit with minor injuries.

“That coward,” Hitler spat, shaking his head as he recalled the events. “He thought he could kill me and take control of Germany. He was no better than Göring or Fegelein. Traitors, all of them.”

Goebbels, ever the opportunist, chimed in. “Stauffenberg was always suspicious, mein Führer. An aristocrat who thought he was above us, above you. He believed he could be the saviour of Germany by betraying you. But history will remember him as a coward who failed.”

Hitler nodded slowly, his eyes dark and hollow. “Yes, he failed. But the damage was done. The Wehrmacht was never the same after that. I could never trust them again.”

Operation Valkyrie, as the plot was codenamed, had been an attempt by a group of high-ranking officers led by Stauffenberg to overthrow the Nazi regime and sue for peace with the Allies. It had nearly succeeded, and the fallout had shaken Hitler’s trust in his military commanders. Hundreds of conspirators were arrested and executed in the aftermath, but the damage to Hitler’s psyche was irreparable.

“Stauffenberg,” Hitler whispered again, his voice distant. “He wanted to end me. But it’s not Stauffenberg who will decide Germany’s fate. It is me.”

Wilhelm Canaris

If Stauffenberg’s betrayal had been a near-fatal blow, then the actions of Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, the head of German military intelligence, were slow poison that had infected the regime for years. Canaris had once been a trusted figure, a man of intellect and cunning who had risen through the ranks of the Abwehr. But by 1945, Hitler had discovered the truth—Canaris had been working against him all along.

“Canaris,” Hitler had once said to me, his voice dripping with contempt. “He played a dangerous game. He thought he could outsmart me.”

Canaris had secretly opposed many of Hitler’s policies, especially the more extreme actions of the SS and the Gestapo. He had used his position to protect resistance members, sabotage certain Nazi operations, and, most shockingly, communicate with the Allies.

By the time Hitler realised the extent of Canaris’s betrayal, it was too late. The damage had been done. Canaris was arrested in 1944 and executed in early 1945, just weeks before the final collapse of the Reich.

“That snake,” Hitler had fumed when Canaris’s betrayal was uncovered. “He was always against me. Working in the shadows, trying to undermine everything I built.”

Goebbels, ever eager to reinforce Hitler’s sense of righteous anger, added, “Canaris was a coward, hiding behind the guise of military intelligence. But he was always a traitor, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Hitler had nodded grimly. “Yes. But he too failed. Just like the rest of them.”

“Sieg Heil”

The atmosphere in the Führerbunker had grown increasingly desolate as the end drew nearer. The betrayals had taken their toll, and Hitler’s mental state was deteriorating rapidly. The remaining loyalists, driven by fear and a desperate need to alleviate their Führer, did their best to maintain appearances. But even the appearance of order was slipping away.

In a rare moment of reflection, Hitler stood before a small group of us. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow, and his voice was barely a whisper. The finality of our situation seemed to weigh heavily upon him. He was still giving orders, but it was clear that his heart was no longer in it.

“Sieg Heil!” Hitler shouted, but the cheer was weak, hollow, and lacking its former fervour. His voice cracked as he raised his arm in the traditional salute. The command was lifeless, the enthusiasm long gone.

I looked around the room, seeing the strained faces of those who still clung to their roles. Goebbels and the others returned the salute, their expressions mirroring the emptiness of the moment. Even as they raised their arms, their eyes betrayed a sense of hopelessness.

“Sieg Heil!” we echoed back, but the words felt like an empty promise. The irony of the salute, once a symbol of strength and unity, had become a gesture of a failing regime.

Hitler’s gaze was distant as he looked at us. “To victory,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “To the end.”

The finality of his words hung heavy in the room. We all knew the truth—Berlin was lost, the Reich was collapsing, and the era of Nazi Germany was coming to an end. But until the last breath, until the final moments, we would continue the charade, clinging to the remnants of a once-mighty empire.

As the hours passed and the end drew nearer, I continued to bring messages of doom and despair, knowing that each one was another nail in the coffin of a shattered dream. The Führer’s world was collapsing around him, and I was left as the reluctant messenger of his ruin.

In the end, the betrayals and failures of those around Hitler led to a reckoning that could not be avoided. The regime that had once promised domination was now nothing more than a relic of history, its final days marked by betrayal, madness, and a hopeless “Sieg Heil.”

***

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