01/29/2026
March 7, 1945. The end didn't come with a heroic display, but with the smell of damp earth and the silent hum of a T-39 telephone system. For twenty-year-old Annelise Schmidt, a Luftwaffe communications assistant , the concrete bunker near Andernach had been her entire world. For months, she had lived in a cocoon of crackling headsets and encrypted messages that testified to a steadfast German front.
But when the sharp, hammering impact of the American artillery began to vibrate through the soles of their boots, that world shattered. Their commander, Captain Vogel, stood pale, cranking a dead field telephone. "Everything east of the river... gone," he whispered.
Propaganda had prepared them for monsters—gangsters and beasts who would set the world ablaze. But when the steel-reinforced door was flung open, the men in the doorway were no caricatures. Dressed in mud-brown, olive-green uniforms, the soldiers of the 9th US Infantry Division looked frighteningly young, their eyes marked by exhaustion and a hardness that made them shudder more than any threat...
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