If all of this is my fault, then who will save Germany

I only remember that before his death, Karajan went to the Eagle's Nest with others. He looked at the Führer's final bunker in solitude and quietly said, "Is there no one to bury you properly"

The paths they have walked, their sacrifices, their struggles, the winding journeys they have taken, and the battlefields they have rushed to are all as silent as the sand and stones at the deepest part of the Spree River

In my dreams, I no longer remember the camp entangled with barbed wire and wooden fences at Sachsenhausen and Dachau, nor do I recognize the roads to Buchenwald and Auschwitz. I do not see the smoke of the Vistula, and the people of Warsaw do not gaze at the sky in despair, wondering if the bombers will come. I do not see the armored vehicles bypassing the Maginot Line. The youth of Paris are still romantically and sweetly in love, the skies of Britain remain clean and azure, and the streets of London are still bustling and noisy. Not a single one of you gazes at the starry sky on a summer night in Smolensk, missing your hometown; not one shivers in the cold of snowy Moscow; no one is buried alone beneath the dead birch trees in Stalingrad under the falling snow; not a single child of a youth division dies on the beaches of Normandy, nor in the ruins of Berlin.

How many years have passed, how many days and nights have gone by

Marshal Dönitz remained proud and resolute during the Nuremberg Trials, his shoulders bearing an unspoken loyalty and calmness. He stated that if he could go back, he would still act the same way. None of us have regrets; we, along with the - picture - book, will continue to move forward with unwavering commitment and full effort. He did not deceive us, nor will we deceive our hearts.

We are still here, calmly believing that they once shone brightly, and that the future will ultimately be glorious.

In the end, we either became sorrowful or resolute; I remained stubborn yet still remembered.

( A very emotional long poem, I just found the complete version, and I would like to share it with everyone )

They forgot that the enemy soldiers killed by the Allied forces during the Normandy landings were still children, those boys from the SS Youth Division, who believed in their own country, firmly and fearlessly marching towards their doom. If you all think that this is entirely the fault of the Führer, then who will save Germany

I still dream of you, the scene forever frozen in 1939, when you passed through the Brandenburg Gate in the afternoon, filled with glory and pride

The Third Reich will forever be remembered in our hearts We shall ultimately fight to the death for honor

Are you sincere or insincere, are you mad or loyal

This is not about revenge and power, nor about aggression and betrayal. This voice is merely the shock and emotion bestowed upon a nation by its sense of superiority and the halo of glory.

Recalling the life once dreamed of, it gradually recedes into the distance, while my hands have stiffened into an irretrievable and cruel posture.

The overcast sky you see in Sachsenhausen possesses a desolate silence that Berlin does not have

But it is not recognized in this world

It was not until the early 1930s economic crisis that the Führer's rule significantly reduced the number of unemployed, and it was during this time that Germany began to revive and awaken

He lowered his head and noticed that his long, pale fingers had stiffened due to the cold

... ...

I no longer wish to argue with those blind individuals about whose fault World War II was, whether Hitler was a man or a demon

The mission is calling

In that moment, in the year of Warsaw, in our lifetime, in the history of the empire, amidst the increasingly forgotten passage of time, everything lay silent like dust, yet in an instant became our eternal and indelible vow to this nation

Once the war is over, we will rebuild Berlin, engaging the best designers in the world and using the finest materials to reconstruct the Berlin Museum, collecting all the renowned paintings from around the globe, rebuilding the Berlin Philharmonic Hall, and restoring the State Opera House. Berlin will become the proudest and most beautiful city in the world

Those books that claim to be objective have forgotten too much. They have forgotten to mention that in May 1945, at the moment of Germany's surrender, submarines from Germany scuttled themselves worldwide. The operation named "Rainbow" silently represented the loyal and brave hearts of countless officers and soldiers. Their remains sank into the deep sea, while their souls ascended brilliantly to heaven. Their spirits did not ultimately return to Berlin, embracing beneath the Brandenburg Gate.

There is no longer any relation. Today, decades later, all wars and killings, deaths and rebirths, have been forgotten. The empire fell in that year. Not a single person remains to listen to our cries. No one is willing to mention those who have died

In which year did you declare in the center of Berlin that you would bring a thousand years of happiness to this Germany

I have indeed always looked down upon France. When World War I ended, the treaty they imposed on Germany was as harsh as those signed by modern powers in China. Moreover, at the signing location near the Compiègne Forest on the Ferdinand Foch train, there are inscriptions of an indelible humiliation: on November 11, 1918, the infamous German Empire knelt and surrendered here. Their so-called greatest retreat was nothing more than a derisive remark from the Führer, who said he had never seen a country flee so quickly. Furthermore, at the signing location near the Compiègne Forest on the Ferdinand Foch train, there are inscriptions of an indelible humiliation: on November 11, 1918, the infamous German Empire knelt and surrendered here. Their so-called greatest retreat was nothing more than a derisive remark from the Führer, who said he had never seen a country flee so quickly.

Even if everyone betrays, departs, or becomes lost. Even if we are defeated, judged, or scorned, I still remember.

The fire in the fireplace of the Berlin office blazed fiercely, occasionally accompanied by the crackling sound of burning wood snapping. He sat calmly facing the window, watching the biting wind whip up the remaining dry leaves, while the sky was a heavy gray, with thick clouds looming low and somber.

In which year did you say on the streets of Paris that you would make Berlin the most beautiful city in the world and in books

We are soldiers of Germany, bearing the happiness of all Germans. After bidding farewell, we must fight on battlefields at the ends of the earth and along frontlines thousands of miles apart.

Look, isn't Paris beautiful

The sunlight is intense, the distant sky.

Berlin will always be the most beautiful city in my heart

What about Berlin

I believe I have seen your most heartfelt face and your purest passion. On the battlefront spanning thousands of miles, through wind and snow or scorching sun, amidst despair and slaughter, we are given an unwavering belief, rushing towards different distant places, steadfast in life and death. This October, we stand in the center of Warsaw, as if standing at the starting point of a world. The struggles and cries of Germany, do you hear them?

And I am still here, my Führer, alone as ever, with no one to speak to, no one to embrace, not even a single person to say a word to warm me. Not even my beloved prince can do so. I still cannot do anything for you; is it truly just to die gloriously, as my senior said, to join those organizations, to enter the politics of the nation, to uphold justice in the world? He gazed at the distant Eiffel Tower, where the Nazi flag was already flying, and he said: I still cannot do anything for you; is it truly just to die gloriously, as my senior said, to join those organizations, to enter the politics of the nation, to uphold justice in the world? He gazed at the distant Eiffel Tower, where the Nazi flag was already flying, and he said:

Yes

Many years later, Krista still vividly remembered the face and words of the Führer that day. Under the sky of Paris, on an obscure evening, the setting sun scattered its rays in fragments upon the ground. The lush trees around her occasionally rustled with the sound of the wind, while in the distance, the German flag proudly waved on the Eiffel Tower.

Christa Schroeder was the Führer's secretary. During my studies, I read her autobiography, and that passage is something I can never forget. As long as there was a glimmer of hope, he would resist. He suffered, fantasized, and stubbornly believed, from the Wolf's Lair in Rastenburg to the Eagle's Nest in Berchtesgaden, and even in the dim, gloomy days of the bunker at the Reich Chancellery in Berlin, constantly under Allied air raids. He still dreamed of his empire, never realizing that his people, with their shared belief in glory and loyalty, were unhesitatingly marching towards destruction. He trembled as he placed the Iron Cross on the children of the Youth Division, stubbornly believing, from the Wolf's Lair in Rastenburg to the Eagle's Nest in Berchtesgaden, and even in the dim, gloomy days of the bunker at the Reich Chancellery in Berlin, constantly under Allied air raids. He still dreamed of his empire, never understanding that his people, with their shared belief in glory and loyalty, were unhesitatingly marching towards destruction. He trembled as he placed the Iron Cross on the children of the Youth Division, and in the fading memories, he could only recall standing in the center of Berlin in a certain year, promising the entire German nation a thousand years of happiness.

It seems as though those days of snow tormenting the wind, cold winds and rain, turbulent seas, and unending flames of war have never occurred. The Spree River remains unchanged after so many years, traversing the streets of Berlin, crossing through my memories, transforming into cold tears that flow slowly and heavily, rolling with the somber melodies of sadness and longing

The future remains frigid and desolate, igniting a fire that scorches the heavens

He remembers

The Spree River flows slowly yet resolutely, traversing our memories and crossing all the cold tears

Did we err or did we triumph, did we seek revenge or did we attain glory