Her hand was outstretched so he took it and let her pull him to his feet. He had no idea how long he had been out cold. The last thing he remembered was the prelude to Götterdämmerung. And then he remembered something else; the death of the tyrant.

Now he was standing, but he immediately fell to his knees and vomited. He stayed like that for half a minute, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth and got up again. He felt dizzy but he was aware enough to know that he must be concussed.

Wilde surveyed the meadow and the flattened house, the panicked cattle, and the fire and the billowing cloud of black smoke, blanking out the sun. Where was his sub-machine gun? He looked down at his own body. His clothes were torn and covered in soot. So were his hands. He supposed he must have cuts, but he wasn’t in pain and couldn’t see any injuries.

He got to his feet again and took a couple of steps. He was unsteady, but the fact that he didn’t fall was promising; he could walk. And he could think. He was aware that Paula was watching him with concern and so he smiled at her to reassure her. He gestured with his hand for her to follow him as he walked towards the burning ruins of the house.

It had been spread over a wide area by the explosion. In the blackened wreckage at the perimeter he saw a charred body; there was just enough left to identify it as Frau Fuchs. The fire was dying down, but he couldn’t see Hitler’s corpse. Perhaps he had got his wish to disappear without trace and not be displayed for gawping eyes. That must have been the purpose of the massive bomb waiting to be detonated in his room.

An insurance policy. The ultimate guarantee that he would not be displayed to the world, alive or dead.

Wilde saw the M3 sub-machine gun. As he was picking it up, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Paula tapped her wristwatch then pointed towards the track that had brought them here. She mouthed words and he read her lips. There’s nothing more we can do here. He nodded, yes, the day was drawing on; they had to get back to her home village and the only way out was to walk the high trails.

It was a strange day. Adolf Hitler was dead.

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

The bride was wearing white. Her new husband, in an ill-fitting black suit, gazed at her with adoring eyes. It was a day of joy. In the absence of family, Angie Gray and another doctor gave the woman away and Jerzy played the role of photographer.