Last Man to Die
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The prote+a7ge+a7 of Nazi Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels, former POW Peter Hencke witnesses firsthand the Germans' capacity for evil, and, armed with information that could destroy Hitler, he makes his way into Hitler's bunker. $35,000 ad/promo.
two miles down the road there are thirty escaped Germans,’ Hencke continued, waving behind him in the general direction of the north of England. The look of ferocity in the officer’s eye had changed to one of suspicion and he was about to aim a flood of questions which Hencke knew he had no chance of withstanding. ‘Many of them are armed. They’ve already killed several of my company!’ At this point the rifle barrels were raised once more in anxiety; this time they were pointing not at Hencke but
when they arrested my brother and locked him away. I sat holding my father’s hand on the night before they killed him. Three Orangemen who found him in an alleyway, called him the father of a Republican pig and shot him where he stood. Not even executed him. They blew his kneecaps away first, then put two into his guts so that he would die, but not too quickly. They made sure he’d suffer first. And made sure my mother would suffer, every day and every night for the rest of her life. Mr Hencke, I
It’s like collective hysteria. There’s nowhere else for them to go. They’ve probably lost their husbands or lovers in the war, they’re alone and frightened. They come here and throw themselves at the nearest man with a pistol on his belt, desperately seeking protection and a way out. But after a couple of days and nights down here in the cellars they seem to catch the contagion. They call it Kellerkrebs – cellar cancer. As long as they can’t see the war or hear it too well behind twenty feet of
like you, Hencke. We can stay up in Berchtesgaden until the Americans get bored and limp back home after they’ve stuck their bayonets up the bums of half of Russia. We shall have new weapons, deadly new nerve gases, Tabun, Sarin, atomic weapons perhaps. Then – will – be – our – time – again!’ He collapsed back in his chair, exhausted, unable to continue. Hencke, too, was incapable of speech. Deep inside, in the parts where men cry and rant about the injustices of life, he cursed whatever forces
been at his right hand all these years. That should be enough for any girl, shouldn’t it?’ Hencke was the schoolmaster once more, listening to a girl pour out her heart and her confusion, and in spite of her protestations of loyalty he knew there was something missing. ‘But it hasn’t been enough. Has it?’ ‘All these years, at his right hand, but never properly by his side. Sharing him with so many. Worrying that the difference in our ages was so great he must take me for a silly chattering