Byron Williams - Solitaire: Magda Goebbels: A Banality of Ambition and Evil

SOLITAIRE

Byron Williams

SOLITAIRE

Copyright 2018 Byron Williams

First Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Edited by Eeva Lancaster

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Table of Contents

Other Titles by Byron Williams

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Chapter 1

FIFTY METERS BELOW the air raids, destruction and desperation of Berlin, the moment was simultaneously paralyzing and surreal for the unofficial First Lady of Nazi Germany. For more than a decade, she had done her part in aiding the Nazi cause, presenting herself as the prototype of what German women should aspire for. She had willfully played the role of ber mother. But now, it was coming to an unmerciful end.

The Fuhrerbunker shook and the lights flickered with the impact of each Soviet Union mortar cascading from the sky. The dust that emanated when a mortar struck a nearby building made the simple act of breathing in the already tight quarters more laborious.

Like the buildings of Berlin, the ideology of the Third Reich was now in ruins. Magda Goebbels, wife of Josef, the Reichs Minister of Propaganda could neither hear, nor feel. She looked less like a first lady and more like the epitome of exasperation. Mentally and physically, it was as if she had been the recipient of a massive dose of Novocain but her blonde hair was nevertheless well-coifed. Her nails were perfectly manicured. The nail polish and lipstick flawlessly matched the red designer suit created by a member of the Association of Aryan Clothing Manufacturers. Her personal numbness could not nullify her duty. Even at this late hour, she would maintain her standards for the Fuhrer.

The Soviets, along with their reputation for severe brutality, were closing in. The Fuhrerbunker no longer held any strategic value. The transformation was complete. What began as a convenient sanctuary, while still able to use the undamaged portions of the Reich Chancellery for military strategy, had become a claustrophobic domain where orders were given to divisions that no longer existed. It had lapsed into a scene of debauchery, a possible precursor to the imminent Soviet arrival. Like Dantes Inferno , those still inhabiting the Fuhrerbunker had put aside all hope. There was no longer any need to continue discussing the best way to commit suicide. They drank in excess, while openly engaging in orgies for all to witness.

It was the evening of May 1, 1945, and the wife of the Nazi propaganda minister, was sitting alone, playing solitaire. Adolf Hitler and his wife, Eva Braun, had committed suicide the day before. Stoically crestfallen, Magdas thoughts raced between what she perceived as the good times, what could have been, and what needed to happen now.

She, with her husbands approval, had already killed six of her seven children. Several hours earlier, the children were dressed in their white nightgowns and prepared for bed, with Magda combing their hair. Consistent with their bedtime ritual, they sang Hitler is our Savior in unison, led by their mother.

Adolf Hitler is our savior, our hero

He is the noblest being in the whole wide world

For Hitler we live

For Hitler we die

Our Hitler is our Lord

Who rules a brave new world

On this night, a childrens song became a premonition. In Magdas mind, for Hitler, they would, indeed, die. Just a few hours earlier, the Goebbels children had been enjoying their time in the Fuhrerbunker, oblivious of their cruel fate. But now, they lay individually stacked in their bunk beds, without a pulse, as their mother shuffled the deck of cards not far from their room.

Since they arrived at the Fuhrerbunker, Magda had found it difficult to look at her children without bursting into tears. Their fate, the tangible evidence of their parents fanatical commitment to Nazi dogma, had been contemplated for months. Magdas despair for her children was exceeded only by her inconsolable grief as she stood by Hitlers door, after he and Eva Braun had said their goodbyes to the staff, before retiring for the final time. Magda had pounded on the door with her husband in the background, her muffled voice barely penetrating Hitlers well-fortified chamber. Magda had begged Hitler her Fuhrer, her savior to not give up ... to seek another alternative. When Hitler came to the door, she had fallen prostrate, pleading with him not to commit suicide. Hitler had mumbled a few nearly unintelligible words, and then he had taken a step back and slowly closed the door. By the time the iron door closed, so too did Magdas hopes of a future.

But that was yesterday. Today simultaneously represented her past, present, and what remained of her future.

Her thoughts turned briefly to her oldest son, Harald, from her first marriage with Gnther Quandt. She wondered how he would receive the news contained in her farewell letter. By the time Harald who was in a POW camp in North Africa received this correspondence, he would have heard of the tragedy. But Magda believed, at least she hoped, her letter might help him understand why.

She wrote:

My beloved son! By now, we have been in the Fuhrerbunker for six days already daddy, your six little siblings and I for the sake of giving our national socialistic lives the only possible honorable end. You should know that I stayed here against daddy's will, and that even until last Sunday, the Fhrer wanted to help me get out. You know your mother. We have the same blood. For me, there was no wavering. Our glorious idea is ruined and with it, everything beautiful and marvelous that I have known all my life. The world that will come after the Fhrer and national socialism is no longer worth living in. Therefore, I took the children with me. They are too good for the life that would surely follow, and a merciful God would understand me if I gave them salvation. You will live, and I ask only one thing from you ... that you never ever forget you are a German. Never go against your honor, and through your life, see that our deaths won't be in vain. The children are wonderful. They never complained or cried. The explosions above are now shaking the bunker. The elder kids keep the younger ones covered and their presence is a blessing. They make the Fhrer smile once in a while. Last night, the Fhrer had taken off his golden party pen and pinned it to me. I am proud and happy. May God give me the strength to perform the last and hardest task. We only have one goal left. To show our loyalty to the Fhrer even in death. To be able to end our lives with him ... is an honor. Harald, my dear son, I want to give you what I learned in life. Be loyal! Loyal to yourself, loyal to the German people, and loyal to your fatherland. Be proud of us and try to keep us in dear memory. It is difficult to start a new page. Who knows if I can even fill it ... but I would like to give you my love and strength and take away the pain of our loss. Be proud of us and try to remember us with pride and happiness. We all have to die. Isn't it more beautiful to live less, but with honor and dignity, than to have a long life in shameful conditions? I must finish. Hanna Reitsch is taking this letter and leaving again. I embrace you with my sweetest and deepest love. My dear son, live for Germany! Your MotherNext page