A meeting of legends - I became Hitler

In a moment of life or death, the thought that I should bend forward flashed through my mind.

A split-second decision saved his life.

Because I leaned forward, the enemy's bayonet passed me by.

The British soldiers, having lost their balance, fell to the ground with a dull thud.

While the enemy was suffering, I drew my bayonet from my side and rushed at the enemy.

If you don't kill, you die.

I can't die until I get revenge on those who screwed me over. I've already died five times, which is enough for me! What more do you want?

Driven by my survival instinct, I plunged my bayonet into my opponent's chest without hesitation. As I pulled the bayonet out, blood gushed out like a fountain.

After pulling the gun out of the hand of the dying enemy soldier who was bleeding profusely, he returned to the trench and fired at the enemies who were swarming in.

When I saw two or three enemy soldiers shot and fell, I ran out of bullets.

The Lee-Enfield rifle was no longer usable as it required different ammunition from the Gewehr 1898 rifle.

While checking to see if there were any abandoned weapons nearby, an MP18 submachine gun caught my eye.

There also happened to be spare magazines lying around.

I picked it up right away and fired at the enemies who came near the trench.

Two British soldiers who were trying to spread the barbed wire with their hands were reduced to rags, and a middle-aged soldier who was about to throw a grenade fell over with the grenade still in his hand and was shattered.

However, the number of enemies was greater than expected, and in the end, only a few survived and entered the trench.

When I pulled the trigger and shot the back of the head of an enemy soldier who had jumped into the trench, there was a sound like a watermelon exploding and blood and brain matter splattered on his face.

After roughly wiping the blood off my face with my sleeve and replacing the magazine, something fell in front of me. It was a grenade.

My eyes instinctively turned to the corpse of the enemy soldier I'd just shot dead. With no time to waste, I tossed the corpse onto the grenade.

The grenade exploded as the body covered it.

I received a strong blow to my head and lost consciousness.

While all consciousness was turned off, no sound was heard.

Only darkness and silence.

***

"Oh, you're alive."

"Are you awake?"

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a cot.

How happy I was when I realized I'd survived. Having already tasted death five times, I wasn't so afraid of dying.

I'm just afraid of what happens after I die.

The battle ended in a friendly victory. The doctor said that at first, they thought he was dead and were going to bury him in a pit, but when they checked his body, it was warm for a corpse, and he was breathing, so they brought him here.

"You're so lucky. You almost got buried alive."

"Is that so?"

Buried alive? I almost met the same death again.

As I sat up, I felt a pain in my chest. My headache was so bad it felt like a rope was tied around my head.

According to the military doctor, he had small shrapnel lodged in his chest and his head appeared to have been hit by the explosion. All the shrapnel has been removed, and there's no major damage to his head, so he'll feel better after resting.

"By the way, you did a really great job."

"?"

"You single-handedly blew up two tanks and wiped out the swarming enemy forces? Witnesses say you single-handedly took on dozens of men. They all agree that without you, the battle would have been lost."

"Oh... is that so?"

"That's right. Considering your achievements, you deserve at least the Iron Cross. Oh, by the way, I don't know your name. Corporal, what's your name?"

"It's Adolf Hitler."

"Adolf Hitler. I'll report to your unit first."

A few days later, I was transferred to a military hospital in Aachen, Germany, along with other wounded soldiers.

The military hospital was definitely better than the medical clinics at the front.

I could lie down on a proper bed, there were more nurses than medics, and the occasional gunshot was gone.

The most satisfying thing was the food. The food provided at the hospital was much better than what I had eaten at the front.

There's nothing we can do about the fact that turnips are served at every meal, but unlike the front where we ate only turnips for all three meals, here we also get bread and potatoes, and occasionally meat.

It was a drought, so it was like soybeans were growing, but there was at least something to see.

Today, meat was served for the first time in a while, and everyone in the hospital room cheered. The menu consisted of grilled sausages, shredded cabbage, and boiled kidney beans.

The sausage was tough and rancid, but no one complained.

In these times when food is scarce, just being able to eat meat is a blessing.

I was slowly savoring a sausage, thinly sliced with a knife, when the newly wounded soldier who had arrived in the bed next to me yesterday collapsed, complaining of an upset stomach. He left half of that precious sausage behind.

"Want some food? I don't have an appetite."

"Huh? Is that really okay?! What should I do, I feel so bad about this?"

"It doesn't matter. It's much better than throwing it away."

To give away such a precious sausage so readily? Are you generous or are you truly displeased?

Feeling sorry for no reason, I spoke to him.

"Thanks for the sausage. What's your name? I should at least know the name of the person who gave me this precious sausage. By the way, I'm Adolf Hitler."

"It's Remarque. Erich Paul Remarque."

For a moment, I almost spit out the sausage I had in my mouth.

Remarque?

That Remarque?

The author who left behind numerous masterpieces such as , , and , and who went into exile abroad after directly opposing the Nazis?

I was so flustered that I couldn't speak.

Oh my goodness, the legendary author is right here in front of me.

By the way, Remarque said that he was injured and evacuated while fighting on the Western Front.

Who would have guessed that a man who would later become a dictator and a novelist who opposed that dictator, was persecuted, and then fled abroad, would meet in the same hospital room? The world is truly mysterious.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?"

Remarque, who was puzzled by my silence, asked:

"Oh, nothing. It's just that my name is similar to someone I know."