Anger

by HardeeBurger

There are three gates that lead to hell – Lust, Anger and Greed.
- Bhagavad Gita 16:21

If in our heart, we cling to anger, we cannot be free.
- Thich Nhat Hanh, May 1998

When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite.
- Winston Churchill, December 8, 1941

"Wir werden nur dann von Frieden sprechen, wenn wir den Krieg gewonnen haben!"

General Georgy Zukhov offered the man deference due only to his status. "We will talk of peace right now, Herr Hitler – here and at my leisure. This war won't be won by you. Not today, nor now, not ever."

"Führer Hitler!" the man demanded. "Führer und Reichskanzlerund!"

General Zukhov kindness towards the man had reached its limitation. As commander of the Belorussian Front, his army would soon set itself upon Germany's Reichstag, consuming it in fire. With no country and no government, and soon, no army to command, Adolf Hitler had lost his claim to all of his titles. Yet, despite the position of superiority the General held over the small man, Zukhov heaved a sigh. There were bigger monsters in this war than just mere mortal humans.

"As General of the Chief of Staff, and Minister of Defense for the Union of Soviet Republics, I know about the Spitfires."

Hitler blinked before responding. "The British fighter-bomber? Ach, my Luftwaffe would have taken London if given more time."

Zukhov slowly shook his head, not once releasing the fallen leader from his steadfast gaze. "No. Not the British Aircraft. The alien sea dragons."

Hitler now blinked rapidly. "I don't know what you mean!"

His words were a clear lie. The stress and tension of the moment made it hard for him to sound convincing. General Zukhov barely bothered with paying the man heed.

"Herr Hitler," he began, trying to not sound condescending, "Führer Hitler, if you wish. These monsters came to us first in Odessa, offering their hideous wares."

"Nein!" Hitler blurted. "That's not possible!" he then added before clamping his mouth shut.

"The Motherland denied them everything, so they left for Venice, to seek you through Mussolini."

"Nein," Hitler repeated, sounding less convincing than before.

"They then set out across the land, and made it to Liechtenstein. A hard feat for what are at heart, water dwelling creatures."

Hitler now said nothing. "They convinced you to annex Austria, to consort with them in the Adriatic. From there, they fed you lies, as you now here try feeding yours to me."

Hitler hung his head. There was no use in denial. General Zukhov, as a member of the Soviet Politburo, knew as much – if not more – about the alien sea creatures as did the German Abwehr. Zukhov no doubt also knew that the Spitfires had abandoned the Third Reich, fording the English Channel to take sides with Great Britain.

"How– " Hitler stammered, sounding miserable. "How did you deny them favor, when they offered so much?"

Zukhov stood at attention. "I am only a soldier, and not a politician. But I can tell you this – their promise of technology for no cost other than their benefice is nothing but a ruse."

"A ruse?"

"They have other motives. They want more than just to live in our oceans."

Hitler disagreed. "They want to live in the deep rifts of the sea. At a depth of seven kilometers or more."

Now Zukhov disagreed. "Out intelligentsiya tell us that depth is not what they need. They only go so low to seek out the warmth of continental rifts." Hitler looked confused, so Zukhov continued. "On the surface, our world is too cold for them to live. They need heat from the Earth's mantle to keep themselves alive."

"But it gets cold in Venice. And in Austria – the Alps."

"Yes. For a length of time, these monsters can survive in colder climes. You've seen them dressed in armor, da? Titanium and magnesium? They wear thick rubber underneath, wet suits to keep them warm."

Zukhov paused. "You do know they're cold-blooded? Like lizards, or like snakes."

Hitler barely nodded. It was clear that this mere General of the Russian army knew more about the aliens that came from outer space than did the leader of the Reich.

Zukhov carried on. "They keep their armor heated using a hidden power, a thing not run by gas, nor with any fire."

This was something Hitler knew. "They call it atomic power. A source that's like the sun."

The sound of war raging outside invaded the German bunker. The concussion from a nearby bomb shook dust off the walls.

"Those bombs will soon be falling here," General Zukhov warned. "I'll be gone, but you'll remain, to suffer defeat."

"Wir werden diesen Kampf gewinnen!" Herr Hitler cried.

"Nyet," Zukhov countered. "You will not win. You'll lose."

"The American King Roosevelt has died! An angel visits with me in this room! Like the Miracle at the House of Brandenburg, Fate holds possibility in her hand."

The thud of more bombs falling shook dust upon the angel. "Her wings will not embrace you. She uses them to fly away, to safety, as soon so shall I."

The two men stood in silence, as dull noise filled the room. In a moment of respite, Hitler smiled at his conqueror. "Will you have a seat?" he offered, gesturing towards a table. "And perhaps, a brandy with me?"

With the war waging closer, as their aides and bodyguards shifted uncomfortably on their feet, the two men sat and drank. "Tell me more about this power," Zukhov asked his host. "What the dragons say they use to heat their armor."

"It comes from the sun," Hitler said with brightness, the warmth of false hope in his veins. "The crushing of an atom, breaking it in two."

Zukhov knit his brow. He drank again before responding. "How does this heat armor? Is it some sort of an engine?"

"Nein! There is only pressure. It releases unlimited power." Zukhov remained disbelieving, so Hitler continued, proud to know at least of one thing that the General did not. "Certain elements, like uranium and plutonium, fall apart when under pressure, to create heat like a furnace."

"It sounds dangerous," Zukhov mused. "How does it not explode?"

"It does! Ferociously, if unchecked, but it can be controlled with proper shielding."

"And if you don't use shielding?"

Hitler splayed his hands with his fingers wide. "Foom," he said while smiling, puffing out his cheeks.

"It sounds like a weapon," Zukhov offered. "Could it make a bomb?"

Hitler pondered the notion. "I suppose it can."

Zukhov was less amused. "Our intelligentsiya also say that the Americans do just that – they seek to harness atoms, to make bombs that burn like the sun."

Hitler struck the table with his fist, a noise more startling than war. "They got it from the aliens! Those bastards play all sides!"

"They do not play on our side," Zukhov said. "We sent them away with nothing."

Hitler leaned in close. "They will not let you win. They'll come back when they need you."

Zukhov poured another drink. "We'll see," he said as he sipped.

Hitler leaned back in his chair, twirling the remnants of his brandy in a glass. "We sent them packing, too, you know. The Spitfires – it's why they left us to side with England."

Zukhov raised his eyebrows, saying nothing as Hitler continued. The Führer sounded wistful, as if talking about lost love.

"They gave us so many things – armor to make strong tanks, and rockets and missiles and engines. Nothing was beyond their reach! All they asked for was that we hide them, to not let anyone know they exist. They told about this incredible source of power that they had – crushing atoms to blow up cities. Like the sun, they said it was, to scorch and kill our enemies.

"So it's like the sun, we said back to them. Does it burn as hot? Oh ja, they said right back. Like the sun, hotter and more. It will heat the earth so much, leaving those beneath it dying."

The joy left Hitler's face. He looked sallow and withered. "They're lizards, as you say. Cold-blooded, like a snake. They say our world's too cold for them, that they need heat to stay alive. Where will they get all that heat from, our scientists next wondered. Will you give us the bombs we need, to defeat our enemies? Jawohl! All that and more! Many hundreds, even thousands, atoms blowing up the sky, to turn our enemies to ash. To burn their cities and their factories, their navies and their armies."

"That sounds like a horror," Zukhov fairly conceded, his face sallow as well. "Hell set loose upon the land."

Hitler nodded gravely. "And as this hellfire burns free upon the land, what becomes of the temperature? Does not the Earth get hotter?"

The realization struck Zukhov like a hammer blow. "So the monsters are no longer cold! The Earth heats them like a furnace!"

Hitler nodded again, more gravely than before. "And what becomes of us then, do you think, after that? Do we suffer? Do we perish?"

"It's hard to think we wouldn't."

"And at their benefit. They grow strong, and we grow weak."

"And they then will conquer us."

Silence again fell, save for the thuds of war.

"How do you think we stop them?" Zukhov asked after a while. "The Americans, or the monsters?"

"Do you think if the Spitfires give them bombs made out of splitting atoms, that the Americans will use them?"

"The mere existence of atomic weapons implies the possibility of their use."

Hitler twirled his brandy for a final time before downing what was left. "I wish I would have stopped them," he said to his empty glass. "I wish I would have never let the Spitfires start this war."

Zukhov stood up to leave. His aids and bodyguards all snapped to attention. "Well, it is your fault, Herr Hitler. We sent the aliens away from Odessa with nothing, and when they came to you, you gave them everything."

"Not everything, Generalfeldmarschall. When we said nein, they left us to side with Winston Churchill."

"I am just a soldier. I'm not a field marshal."

Hitler ignored his faux pas, the brandy warming his insides. "And when Churchill denied them favor as well, the heathens set sail for America. There, they found every terrible thing they ever needed." He looked up at his victor. "Tell me – what do you think it will be like, as the Earth grows hotter and hotter and hotter? As the years go by, for decades and maybe longer, with each year growing warmer, becoming worse than the last?"

"Each year?" Zukhov pondered. "Year after year after year?"

"For decades," Hitler repeated. "Maybe centuries?"

Zukhov thought for a moment. "I don't think I want to live in a world like that. I don't think I could. I don't think any of us could."

"Ja. I don't think so either. I think we'll die like it's a wasteland, our bones bleaching on the sand."

Hitler slumped ever further, already defeated. General Zukhov made a gesture, and an aide was at his side. With another gesture, the man gave Zukhov his sidearm – a Tokarev TT-33. Removing the magazine, Zukhov left the pistol with one round in the chamber.

He placed it on the table. "Führer Hitler. Führer und Reichskanzlerund," he said, "if you find the future distasteful, you might use this to relieve your suffering."

Hitler looked up and smiled. "Perhaps, too, if I may ask, General? Could I also relieve the suffering of my family?"

Zukhov thumbed out three bullets from the magazine he held in his hand. He also dug into a pocket, and placed a silver snuff box, along with the bullets, by the pistol on the table.

"These cyanide capsules might work better, just in case you miss."

"Danke, Generalfeldmarschall. You're a good soldier indeed."

The general snapped to attention before turning and marching away. He was long gone into the war outside before the gunshots started.