I’d come back in time to observe first-hand the upper-workings of the Third Reich. Like I was some kind of time-journalist.
The Nazis let me accompany Hitler on a whirlwind PR tour across Germany. He’d show up, give one of his rousing speeches, then his entourage would retire to some private party for champagne and finger food.
Somehow, Hitler knew about his eventual defeat, and going down in history as the most evil man ever, and that as a traveler from the future I’d know about this. He seemed really embarrassed about it. Sheepish, almost. He kept trying to make me like him by telling me jokes, slapping me on the back and being an all-around jovial guy.
He also endorsed products. After each speech, which was typically Hitler-screamy, he’d say, in English and in a smooth 1950s-style radio announcer voice, “By the way, friends, did you know I’ve never had a more comfortable pair of shoes? Yes, that’s right, and they’re available at a very reasonable price at Karstadt department store.”
Eva Braun was part of his group, and sat behind and slightly to the side of him during his speeches. I had always thought they didn’t flaunt the relationship, but apparently I was wrong. She looked way younger than I thought, and cracked her chewing gum and wore a miniskirt and pink tights — the kind that aren’t connected at the top but are more like really long socks made of tights-material. (Not being a tights-wearer, I’m not sure if such hosiery actually exists.) She kept sticking her left hand down her left tights-leg and resting it there, stretching out the material. You could tell Adolph’s handlers wanted to tell her to quit fidgiting, but nobody wanted to risk pissing off The Führer’s girlfriend.
At one after-speech party, glasses of Sekt in-hand, Adolph took me aside and said in a low voice that he wanted to let me in on a secret: the plans for the upcoming Denmark/Norway dual-invasion. He pulled a worn piece of paper out of his pocket, and unfolded it. On it was a map of northern Europe, hand-drawn in pencil, with a series of northerly-pointing arrows drawn over Denmark and then bending slightly into Norway. At the top was written “PROJEKT VOGEL” (“PROJECT BIRD”). Beaming with pride at his plans, he asked me what I thought. I asked him if it was to be an air campaign, and he said “No, we’ll hit them with everything we’ve got!” and smacked his right fist into his left open palm. I asked him why it was called Project Bird, then, because that would imply flying or doing something in the air. He looked confused for a second, then an expression of realization set in on his face, and he said he could see why I’d think that.