Here's a vignette I wrote recently, inspired by the novel Himmler's War by Robert Conroy (though rather different). This is my first vignette, so constructive feedback is welcome. Hope you all enjoy. 
The Reich of Erwin Rommel
The Desert Fox was a loyal German. A man of Deutschland. He had served his country in war twice and supported the its saviour, Reichsfuhrer Hitler. He had idolised the great man, served him loyally in Africa. But now his idol and master was dead.
He had fought back tears when he had read the news. The telegram had described how Hitler and his staff had succumbed to injuries inflicted by the traitorous troops of Generalmajor von Tresckow in Smolensk. He would have to pay.
He had killed Deutschland’s hero.
The man who held the nation together.
The great man that had lifted Deutschland of its knees.
The legend who had lead them to victory over France.
Rommel felt weak at the knees and stumbled to his desk before slumping in his chair. He could take it no longer and began to weep. But even as he did, he found himself imagining what he would do as Fuhrer of Deutschland. The Allies could not find out, the Army would have to take control. Deutschland would need to fight the war without hate, no more killing of the Jews, all Deutschland’s resources must be focussed on fighting instead of on Hitler’s personal projects. The man was a legend but even legends have their faults and his obsession with the Jews was Hitler’s. Bormann would have to go. Speer, well maybe he could still aid the Reich. Donitz would have to be reassigned, the Kreigsmarine was no more than a defunct organisation. The war effort would have to be re-arranged. The more he thought the more Rommel realised was wrong with Hitler’s war effort. The legend was not as flawless as it seemed, but no-one could know that.
The myth of Hitler the great, Hitler the triumphant, Hitler the brilliant, the saviour and leader would have remain in the hearts and minds of the German people. A state funeral, the like of which none had ever seen, would have to be Hitler’s final farewell. The German populace would have to remember Hitler as the man Goebbels claimed him to be. No cracks in the façade could be allowed. He would have to keep Goebbels working overtime.
Then he heard the click of heels and a voice say, “Generalfeldmarschall, Herr Speer wishes to see you.”
Rommel looked up sharply to see his secretary standing before him in mid-salute.
“What does he want?” He asked, knowing full well that Speer’s visit could mean only one thing.
“He wishes to discuss the position of Fuhrer.” His secretary replied a flash of confusion flashing across his expressionless face.
“Very well, send him in.”
The secretary backed out the door and seconds later Albert Speer, ‘Architect of the Third Reich’, walked in.
“Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, thank you for your time,” He said. “No doubt you are aware of the tragic news, I am sure you are greatly saddened but we have important matters to discuss.”
Rommel nodded assent and replied. “I have just read of the tragedy that von Tresckow has inflicted on the Reich. I assume you refer to the newly, and tragically, vacated position?”
“Perceptive as ever Erwin, you are very much correct,” Speer replied. “I, and others in the Reichkanzlei, believe that you are the right choice to succeed Hitler.”
Rommel started, surely those words couldn’t have come out of the mouth of Speer of all people. “May I ask why?”
“Because we believe that Hitler’s death was engineered by, not only, von Tresckow but by much of the Heer in Eastern Europe and you are the national hero, dare I say, figurehead that the Reich needs to stay united.”
“But surely Heer Bormann or yourself would be more appropriate. After all, Bormann is, I mean was, Hitler’s secretary…”
Speer cut him off, “But you forget that Bormann is despised by many in the Reichkanzlei and army. As for I, I am but a simple architect. I am no lead nor figurehead and the Reich needs both.”
Rommel sighed, he did not wish to be Fuhrer but Speer seemed to be insistent. “What about my fellow Generalfeldmarschall, von Rundstedt, or Großadmiral Donitz?”
“They are not suitable either. von Rundstedt is a soldier not a politician and definitely not a figurehead and Donitz will be needed to command, what’s left of, the Kreigsmarine.” Replied Speer, beginning to look impatient.
Rommel sighed again, heavier this time. After a pause, he said “With God’s help I will do what is best for Deutschland and the Reich.”
Speer rose and saluted him. “A wise decision Mein Reichspräsident.” He span on his heel and left.
Seconds later, Rommel’s secretary entered the office once more and saluted.
“Heil mein Reichspräsident.” He said. “Congratulations Sir and good luck.”
Rommel realised that this would be his life from now until his death, men would do his bidding, men would salute whenever and wherever he entered a room, men would be lining up asking for favours and by the grace of God he may lead Deutschland to victory.
Hitler had made the Reich and Rommel, a simple man and solider, now found himself as its new leader.
The Reich of Erwin Rommel
The Desert Fox was a loyal German. A man of Deutschland. He had served his country in war twice and supported the its saviour, Reichsfuhrer Hitler. He had idolised the great man, served him loyally in Africa. But now his idol and master was dead.
He had fought back tears when he had read the news. The telegram had described how Hitler and his staff had succumbed to injuries inflicted by the traitorous troops of Generalmajor von Tresckow in Smolensk. He would have to pay.
He had killed Deutschland’s hero.
The man who held the nation together.
The great man that had lifted Deutschland of its knees.
The legend who had lead them to victory over France.
Rommel felt weak at the knees and stumbled to his desk before slumping in his chair. He could take it no longer and began to weep. But even as he did, he found himself imagining what he would do as Fuhrer of Deutschland. The Allies could not find out, the Army would have to take control. Deutschland would need to fight the war without hate, no more killing of the Jews, all Deutschland’s resources must be focussed on fighting instead of on Hitler’s personal projects. The man was a legend but even legends have their faults and his obsession with the Jews was Hitler’s. Bormann would have to go. Speer, well maybe he could still aid the Reich. Donitz would have to be reassigned, the Kreigsmarine was no more than a defunct organisation. The war effort would have to be re-arranged. The more he thought the more Rommel realised was wrong with Hitler’s war effort. The legend was not as flawless as it seemed, but no-one could know that.
The myth of Hitler the great, Hitler the triumphant, Hitler the brilliant, the saviour and leader would have remain in the hearts and minds of the German people. A state funeral, the like of which none had ever seen, would have to be Hitler’s final farewell. The German populace would have to remember Hitler as the man Goebbels claimed him to be. No cracks in the façade could be allowed. He would have to keep Goebbels working overtime.
Then he heard the click of heels and a voice say, “Generalfeldmarschall, Herr Speer wishes to see you.”
Rommel looked up sharply to see his secretary standing before him in mid-salute.
“What does he want?” He asked, knowing full well that Speer’s visit could mean only one thing.
“He wishes to discuss the position of Fuhrer.” His secretary replied a flash of confusion flashing across his expressionless face.
“Very well, send him in.”
The secretary backed out the door and seconds later Albert Speer, ‘Architect of the Third Reich’, walked in.
“Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, thank you for your time,” He said. “No doubt you are aware of the tragic news, I am sure you are greatly saddened but we have important matters to discuss.”
Rommel nodded assent and replied. “I have just read of the tragedy that von Tresckow has inflicted on the Reich. I assume you refer to the newly, and tragically, vacated position?”
“Perceptive as ever Erwin, you are very much correct,” Speer replied. “I, and others in the Reichkanzlei, believe that you are the right choice to succeed Hitler.”
Rommel started, surely those words couldn’t have come out of the mouth of Speer of all people. “May I ask why?”
“Because we believe that Hitler’s death was engineered by, not only, von Tresckow but by much of the Heer in Eastern Europe and you are the national hero, dare I say, figurehead that the Reich needs to stay united.”
“But surely Heer Bormann or yourself would be more appropriate. After all, Bormann is, I mean was, Hitler’s secretary…”
Speer cut him off, “But you forget that Bormann is despised by many in the Reichkanzlei and army. As for I, I am but a simple architect. I am no lead nor figurehead and the Reich needs both.”
Rommel sighed, he did not wish to be Fuhrer but Speer seemed to be insistent. “What about my fellow Generalfeldmarschall, von Rundstedt, or Großadmiral Donitz?”
“They are not suitable either. von Rundstedt is a soldier not a politician and definitely not a figurehead and Donitz will be needed to command, what’s left of, the Kreigsmarine.” Replied Speer, beginning to look impatient.
Rommel sighed again, heavier this time. After a pause, he said “With God’s help I will do what is best for Deutschland and the Reich.”
Speer rose and saluted him. “A wise decision Mein Reichspräsident.” He span on his heel and left.
Seconds later, Rommel’s secretary entered the office once more and saluted.
“Heil mein Reichspräsident.” He said. “Congratulations Sir and good luck.”
Rommel realised that this would be his life from now until his death, men would do his bidding, men would salute whenever and wherever he entered a room, men would be lining up asking for favours and by the grace of God he may lead Deutschland to victory.
Hitler had made the Reich and Rommel, a simple man and solider, now found himself as its new leader.
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