Wayne took a big gulp and kept his eyes fixed on the knife’s blade. Had this waiter seen Wayne pour the liquid into Hitler’s special drinking cup? Wayne didn’t believe that he had. But what else could this guy be getting psycho about? Wayne was trying to think of an excuse that he would use now that he was busted.
“Asshole!” the waiter wrathfully said in Wayne’s face. “Do you want to cost us all our jobs? You know how important tonight is. If I see you without an armband one more time, I will use this knife.”
The waiter lowered the big knife from Wayne’s neck and got off of him. He removed an extra swastika armband from his slacks and threw it at a dumfounded Wayne. The waiter exited the kitchen.
Wayne breathed a little easier. He slowly and shamefully put the swastika armband on. So, Dr. Hoffmann hadn’t thought of everything, after all. Wayne had been sure that his cover was blown. Wayne’s first instinct was to deck the waiter, but then he became determined just to get out of 1933 in one piece, whether he had completed his objective or not.
He picked up the gold tray and carefully placed the now-filled Silver Cup on it. After taking another quick disbelieving look at the knife that had been put to his throat, Wayne exited the kitchen.
Inside the Chancellery’s main room, Hitler was speaking in a fiery tone, “…why Germany must have more breathing space and no other European nation must stand in her righteous path. If the Communists, Freemasons, or Jews of the world continue to prevent Germans from acquiring what is rightfully our lands, and have been in German hands for a thousand years, then the price these people will pay will be with their own heads.” A massive round of cheering came from the guests. Hitler continued, “And now, I toast you, my Deutschland.”
Hitler looked for his special cup. One of the Nazi officials observed Wayne, who was standing by the side of the podium. Wayne had been stunned by how phenomenal a speaker Hitler really had been. Every word was spoken in a certain manner to achieve a desired effect from the audience. Wayne had seen old newsreels of the Führer speaking and how the audiences always hung on his every word, but in-person his gifts as an orator were even more impressive.
The Nazi official gave Wayne a jab to get his attention, nearly causing Hitler’s Cup to topple over. Wayne prevented such a grave accident from occurring (he had only come with the one vial of poison) by putting his hand to the Cup immediately, almost as an instant reflex. The Nazi official took the Silver Cup from Wayne’s tray and placed it delicately in front of the Führer.
Hitler wrapped his right hand around the bottom of the Cup and held up the Cup in toast position for all to view. Wayne quietly moved to the back of the room. He was now ready to go back home to 1995.
The Nazi leader commenced his toast. “To my German comrades. To a Deutschland that will be the most powerful nation in the world.”
With his dog-like devotion to Hitler, Rudolf Hess, as was his wont, shouted out “THE FÜHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
The audience, in a mighty roar, repeated the slogan, “THE FÜHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
Adolf Hitler drank heavily from the inscribed cup.
In the rear of the room, Wayne said to himself “Okay, Doc, get me the hell out of here.”
At the speaker’s podium, directly after ingesting his champagne, Hitler grabbed at his throat, as if gasping for air. The Führer appeared to be trying to speak at the same time. No words came out.
“De Führer?” Rudolf Hess asked in a concerned tone. Hitler stumbled.
Hermann Göring put down his overloaded plate of food and yelled, “Something’s wrong! Doctor! We need a doctor here right away!” Nobody stepped forward as a doctor.
The Nazi leader collapsed down onto the floor with his left hand locked in a position of still grabbing his own throat.
The guests became silent and gathered around their leader. Hess felt Hitler’s neck for a pulse. There was none. Hess cried out, “THE FÜHRER IS DEAD! THE FÜHRER IS DEAD!”
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Everyone was flabbergasted. How could such a thing happen?
Göring, acting more perspective than he usually was, spoke to SS Officer Werner, who was present. “Something seems suspicious. Find that waiter who brought the Führer’s cup over here. I have got a feeling about him.” SS Officer Werner, a devoted man who had been with the Party since almost the very beginning, saluted Göring and walked away to collect his men.
Wayne watched the proceedings from the back of the room alone. Many guests were crying. Some had fainted. Some others even screamed in shock at what had happened. The room was getting noisy. “Mission accomplished,” Wayne thought to himself. “Have a good time in Nazi heaven, Adolf.” Wayne removed his swastika armband from his person and dropped it. He was itchy to get out of there.
SS Officer Werner gave instructions to his men to lock the place up. The armed Nazis drew their guns and dispersed.
Wayne became nervous. “Come on, 1995,” he said and closed his eyes tight. He reopened his eyelids, and saw that he was still where he was. “Shit.” Wayne was sure that any moment he would arrive back home. But still, what was Dr. Hoffmann waiting for?
An SS Nazi fixed his shifty eyes on Wayne. The Nazi pointed his pistol at his prey. A bullet fired in Wayne’s direction. The bullet impacted with the wall a fraction of an inch above his head. The crowd of guests ducked down. Far be it for an SS man to be concerned with the safety of innocent people. The SS Nazi was about to fire on Wayne again.
“Oh, shit!” Wayne jumped away quickly. The lead projectile fired at him narrowly missed him. “Fuckin’ hey — it’s not supposed to happen this way,” he muttered.
Wayne started running, having to hurdle over ducking guests as he did so. He eyed another Nazi with a firearm pointed at him dead on. Wayne dove under a grand oak table.
The Nazi fired. The bullets hit the table, splintering part of it right off.
Wayne would have to get out of the Chancellery. He had never been shot at before, and it was an experience that he could have definitely lived without. There was no time to think about a strategy. “Just keep moving, get the fuck out of this damn place,” he told himself, over and over.
Wayne made a dash for the front door. No luck. SS men were guarding it.
SS Nazis were closing in on him. Wayne saw a Nazi about to fire on him. Wayne snatched a guest, a well-dressed man of about sixty, and held him in front of his own body. The bullet pierced the guest in the head precisely between the eyes. Other guests shrieked. “Sorry, buddy!” Wayne said to the now-deceased man as he dropped the body. Better that a Nazi sympathizer takes a bullet than him, Wayne figured.
Wayne kept on moving, running smack into the area where the orchestra had been playing. The musicians had put their instruments down when Hitler died.
Another Nazi had Wayne in range. These guys were relentless. Wayne tripped over a set of large brass gongs lying next to the drum set. It was a trip that would save his life. He picked up one of the gongs, and positioned it in front of himself as a shield.
Wayne felt the powerful vibration of a bullet as it ricocheted off the large gong. He also heard a cry of pain. The bullet had, ironically enough, ricocheted off Wayne’s “shield” into the arm of the Nazi who had fired the shot.
A Nazi came up from behind Wayne suddenly and grabbed him. Wayne had taken karate as a kid, so at least he had some fighting abilities. This was about to pay off. Wayne elbowed the Nazi hard in the kidney area, causing the Nazi to let go of him. The Nazi took his gun out. Wayne screamed and did a high kick, which knocked the gun out of the Nazi’s hand.