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Hello, everybody! I recently joined AH.com after lurking for about a month. This is a great website, and my knowledge of history has increased dramatically in the short amount of time I've been here. As a result, after much research, I have decided to write my first TL - Six Inches.

As you may or may not know, the July 20th plot was an attempt to kill Hitler, a product of much plotting by several high-ranking Nazis (who happened to secretly despise Nazism) to kill Hitler. Claus von Stauffenberg, the leader of the plot, planted a suitcase bomb under the table in a conference that Hitler was holding, and left the building. Although the bomb detonated, it failed to kill Hitler, and he escaped with minimal injuries. Hitler promptly organized a Stalin-esque purge, which claimed the life of nearly all the conspirators and ended all significant domestic resistance to his regime in Germany.

A lesser known fact about the plot was that it would have succeeded, were it not for one man. Heinz Brandt, an officer attending the meeting, unknowingly nudged the bomb six inches (the inspiration for the name of my TL) forward with his foot, behind a table support. Bradt, it is important to note, was not in any way affiliated with the conspiracy.

When the bomb exploded, the blast was deflected away from Hitler by the table leg, but blew off Brandt's own leg, promptly killing him.

Six Inches will explore what would have happened if Bradt had not attended the meeting, thus killing Hitler.

I'll try to update this every other day, but I might not be able to meet such lofty goals - we shall see. Furthermore, if you see anything wrong, feel free to nitpick.... just go easy, this is my first TL ;)

Six Inches


Part One

Dear -----,
Nazism has been struck a death blow today. Our beloved Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, was killed by the traitorous Jews.

He had been holding a meeting, discussing the stratagems of the devious Allies. The Russians were slowly advancing - they were not far from our current location. It was a matter of great concern to everyone in the room. But that suddenly became meaningless in the face of what happened next.

A roar and blinding white light filled the room. I believe I passed out for a few seconds - it was impossible to tell in the tumult.

When I came to my senses, the first thing I saw was our great Fuhrer. His arm was missing, and his face was covered in a sheen of blood. He was on the floor.

I ran over, attempting to staunch the wound and take his pulse. Slowly, laboriously, he turned to face me. His eyes were unfocused.

"Fellow German," he said, taking deep, choking breaths between each word. His voice was tinny to my damaged ears, although I barely noticed it at the time. "Tell them... the Je.." But then he stopped, and the light faded from his eyes.

The Fuhrer of All Germany had died in my arms. I was covered in his and my blood, for I, too was wounded.

I sat there for perhaps a minute, simply in shock. All around me, men were attempting to stand, and moaning in pain. One man - this remains sharp in my mind's eye - had suffered a direct hit from shrapnel to the face. It was truly horrific, and he was barely recognizable as a man.

As I sat there, I realized what the Fuhrer was trying to tell me. The Jews. The Jews were responsible for that great man's death.

And I know I must avenge him.
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