In Ze Bunker

anke mien Fuhrer", said the Hauptmann(1) as he took the piece of chocolate, hoping all the time that it did not contain cyanide.

"My pleasure.", said the Fuhrer as he returned to his native language. "It always surprises me though,", he continued,"that you feel that our great struggle must be conducted in German. Is not the fact we're British, and more to the point Southern English, enough to guarantee us victory?"

At this, the Hauptmann turned on his seat and looked the other full in the face. "Unless, mien Fuhrer, or perhaps Adrian if you would prefer, you have all the trappings of a good Fascist system, you cannot strive for a good Fascist cause. The mere fact that the German Nazi Party, whom ours is based on died a rather premature death, does not mean that its style, even the malaise which surrounded its death was not correct for the Cause. Therefore, we speak German, wear Swastikas and salute in the ancient Roman manner. On the other hand, with the forces of Zind at our door perhaps it wasn't such a good idea."

"No perhaps it wasn't,", echoed the Fuhrer, "but perhaps all is not lost. I think a change is needed."

At this the words to a half forgotten song swam around inside the Hauptmann's head as he wildly looked around for an exit.

"Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and you can take it or leave it as you please."

However the Hauptmann knew he couldn't leave it, if his Fuhrer offered it to him.

Sensing his unease the Fuhrer made a small rasping sound which could have been a laugh, and walked over to the cupboard. Opening it he extracted two uniforms and various other assorted paraphernalia.

"Oh I see.", said the Hauptmann worriedly, "We shall wear our dress uniforms in defiance of the Zind. Even though we will die, we'll do it in style."

"Tut tut, my dear Hauptmann.", answered the Fuhrer. "And to think that I was grooming you for Head of the Gestapo. These aren't Nazi uniforms but a little something I had made up for an occasion just like this. Take off your uniform and put this on."

Bewildered, the Hauptmann did so, and followed the other instructions his Fuhrer gave him. They had only just finished when the door begin to splinter under the pounding of a rifle butt.

"I wish they would knock like decent chaps", remarked the Field Marshal.

"Dammed impolite if you ask me", added the captain.

And at that, a Dom(2) burst through the door and raised his assault rifle to 'blow them away'.

With a speed gained by endless practice at drawing his pistol, the Field Marshal drew a slim blue book from his breast pocket and opened it in the Dom's face.

"Sorry, but you can't do that, old chap. We're British."

The Dom looked startled, and then with a muffled noise that might have been an apology he turned and walked out.

The Field Marshal turned to the captain and said, "Never doubt the power of a British Passport.", and with that he put it back into his pocket and sat down.

***

1 German for 'Military Captain'.
2 A feared Zind mutant, with powers of mind domination.