A letter that was never written

My leader,

Together we have gone from side to side through the depths of the republic to make Germany what had been promised to it from time immemorial. From the Maas to the Memel, from the Adige to the Belt, I was proud to be your companion. And not only that. You have achieved more in Bohemia and Moravia, in Flanders and Paris.

But today I urge you, my guide, to give up the Western Front and allow the comrades to return home, so that they can spend Christmas 1944 already in the circle of their wives and children, parents and siblings. The war, my guide, is lost. I too always believed in the final victory. I too have always been an advocate of pure Aryan blood and the extermination of the Jewish people.

A few days ago, I celebrated my 47th birthday. After that, Magda went with the children to Frankfurt Oder for a few days. I missed you, especially the two little ones. So it happened that I lay awake some nights and mused about what was and what was yet to come. My guide, we have sinned badly. All the comrades killed on the eastern front, I am thinking in particular of General Paulus and the accursed Stalingrad. All the murdered Poles, Lithuanians and Russian peasants. All the Jews and Gypsies, with their children. I, my guide, can no longer sleep soundly if I do not sit down at my typewriter and write these lines to you.

Also in me no pure Aryan blood flows, as it tells my first name. And probably with some right the people blaspheme about me and call me Schrumpfgermane. Do not I also actually belong in the gas chambers of Auschwitz?

My guide, I request you to capitulate. Both in the west, and in the east and concentration camps all dissolve. Otherwise, I can no longer be devoted to you and prefer suicide instead.

In the hope that you seriously worry about my request, with thanks for your greetings on my birthday and in the words of our great poet Heinrich Heine “Where you burn books, you burn people in the end,” I remain with one

Heil Hitler, my guide,

Yours

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