20 July 1944

Rastenburg in mid-July was not a pleasant place.  No wind stirred the tension filled air of Hitler’s East Prussia headquarters.  The shade cast by the ancient trees did nothing to banish the oppressive heat at high noon.  In fact, the massive leaves seemed to go so far as to trap the heat, to thrust it back in the greenish light that filtered through the branches upon the men that worked here at Wolfsschanze, the Wolf’s Lair.  Claus was grateful of it, though.  It gave him an excuse to sweat.

And sweating he was as he tried to bend the copper tubing of the acid fuze.  He had practiced for weeks using these modified pair of pliers to snap lead pencils, but now, his ruined fingers just couldn’t find purchase.  What was more, despite the fact that the fuze was still intact, the clock was already ticking.  Claus was only supposed to be changing his shirt – the old one had blood on the collar from a cut from shaving – so he figured that he and his aide only had about a minute left.

“Let me, sir,” Haeften whispered, taking the pliers from him and crushing the fuze.  As he did, Claus moved on to the second slab of plastic explosives, snapping together the parts of a second fuze just as a sharp rap on the door rang through the room, startling him.  

“The Führer is waiting!” a man called.  “Colonel Stauffenberg!”

“No time,” Claus muttered, quickly wrapping the bomb in the old shirt and concealing it in his briefcase.  “Go,” he whispered to Haeften even as the lieutenant was already turning.  Vaguely, he could hear his adjutant placating the interruptive soldier with piteous talk of the challenges of dressing with only three fingers.  Briskly, Claus shut the case, the clasps connecting with a definite click, and finished buttoning his uniform before exiting the room to rejoin the group.  A worrisome General Keitel, his aide, and Haeften awaited him in the sweltering heat of 20 July 1944.  

Claus’ eyes briefly flickered down to Haeften’s briefcase that contained the second slab of explosives, and for a moment, Claus wondered if he shouldn’t casually take that bag with his own.  Would a single kilogram be enough, and would one exploding slab detonate the other?  He could probably find an excuse to ‘speak’ with Haeften in private before they reached the meeting…  No, Keitel was already edgy enough.  Claus delaying them a second time in their relatively short commute might actually arouse suspicion.

He checked his watch as they began to walk to the bunker where the others were waiting.  The face read 12:31.  Figuring that it had been about a minute since he had armed the bomb, and that it took roughly three minutes to reach the meeting room, Claus turned to Haeften.  “Be sure the car is ready,” he murmured.  “It may take a few minutes, but you can be sure that the perimeter will shut down after the blast.”

Haeften nodded, peeling off from the group as they turned down another path.  But as they approached Hitler’s massive concrete bunker, Keitel and the other officer turned away.  “Where are we going, sir?” Claus asked, feigning a sort of bored curiosity.

“It’s too damn hot,” Keitel answered.  “The meeting’s been moved to the map room.”  The building that held the map room was concrete as well, but completely above ground and full of windows that were thrown wide open in an attempt to dispel the stagnantly hot atmosphere. In such an open environment, it wasn’t certain that one kilogram of explosives would kill all in the room.  They entered the building and the sounds of the meeting reached them a few feet before they actually entered the room, while they were still in the hall.  

Two irate generals were arguing, jabbing their fingers at the map spread on the table, at the figurines lined along the Eastern Front.  Hitler was also bent over the table, looking on in agitated silence, but at the sight of Claus, his face lit up.  “Colonel Stauffenberg,” he smiled, straightening and moving around the table to shake Claus’ hand.  “My single ray of optimism in this den of buffoons.”

He extended his left hand in consideration of Claus’ missing right hand, and Claus was forced to place his briefcase between his knees to return the gesture.  “Mein Führer,” he greeted with a practiced smile, praying that the monster before him did not see the hatred burning in his eye.  

If he did, though, he said nothing.  Releasing Claus’ hand, Hitler ushered him to the table.  “Perhaps you would like to start the official meeting, Colonel, with good news of the reserves.”

“Actually,” Claus lied smoothly, “I’d prefer to speak a bit later.  I’m waiting on a call from Berlin with an updated set of numbers, you see.”

The Führer nodded understandingly before allowing his attention to be diverted back to the bickering officers.  Claus turned to the aide who had accompanied him and Keitel, asking, “Please come and get me when that call comes through,” before taking his place and setting his briefcase beneath the table with all of the other men’s briefcases.  The argument had finally ended – unsatisfactorily for all if the generals’ scowls were any indication – and the topic had shifted, but to what, Claus didn’t know.  All he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears, his pulse surprisingly slow given the situation.  All he could see were the men who were about to die by his hands.  All he could feel was the heavy wood beneath his hand.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice whispered into his ear, “Phone call for you, Colonel.”  Claus checked his watch again, 12:38, before turning to go.  He made sure to keep his strides natural.  A man simply going to answer a telephone call would not move with too much haste.  It took thirty seconds for him to reach the phone two rooms down the hall from the map room.  

“Colonel Stauffenberg,” he answered.  The man on the other end, having received his cue, hung up, but Claus waited a moment before grimly saying, “Understood,” and returning his receiver to the cradle – to an observer, it would seem that an actual conversation had taken place – and then he walked out of the building.  He counted down the seconds as he strode away from the bomb that would save Germany, save the German people, save Nina and the children.

The blast echoed behind him, its furious roar shattering glass and splintering wood before fading away to reveal the horrified cries and agonized screams of the stunned soldiers inside and near the bunker.  The time was 12:43.