[ WP ] In the Battle of Berlin , instead of the Soviets , the Wehrmacht , following a confusing time paradox , gets caught in a standoff with the Nationale Volksarmee of future East Germany .

The Soviets were hours away. Cautiously, Helmuth Weidling made his plans for the advancing Red Army, knowing that it would not matter much in a few days anyway. Whatever the Fuhrer said, and whatever Goebbels parroted right back, the Reich as a country was finished - but he must n't say that, lest he be shot for telling the truth. 
 
 He picked up his telephone. Night gave some respite from the shelling. The Soviets had started shelling the city, three days prior - on 20th April, Hitler's birthday, and they had not stopped since. Walther Wenck's army had failed to link up with the Ninth army the day before. They had turned from where the Americans were, at the Elbe - but it was in vain. The city was completely encircled, and Weidling felt sure he would die in the capital of Fascist Germany. 
 
 Someone was at the other end of the line. `` Hello?'' 
 
 `` This is Weidling. Is Herr Himmler there?'' 
 
 `` He is in Lubeck at the moment.'' 
 
 `` What the hell is he doing there when Berlin is so close to falling?'' 
 
 No-one ever bothered to tell Weidling anything. Not what armaments he had, not that the so-called Volksstrum'division' of old men and the Hitler Youth division of boys he was sent was supposed to, collectively, defend Berlin against the last Soviet push. Nothing! 
 
 `` Himmler is talking with Count Bernadotte. He-'' 
 
 `` Fat load of good that will do me. Listen, do you know, is Busse's army still fighting? The situation is so chaotic that I-'' 
 
 `` I do not know.'' 
 
 `` Well, get me somebody who knows, damn it! Is Keitel there? Anyone with military speciality?'' 
 
 `` He is, but-'' And with that the line went dead. 
 
 Weidling shivered. He looked at his own execution order, dated April the 22nd. Hitler had wanted him shot, after reports reached him that Weidling, the traitor, had retreated in the face of a Soviet advance. Weidling had taken offence at this - so much offence that in a fit of blind patriotism he had gone to see Hitler himself and ask him the meaning of his firing squad. Hitler, far from being furious, was impressed enough to promote Weidling to commander of the Berlin garrison. Weidling had been much less impressed. *Fat load of good that'll do me*, Weidling thought. Commander of the Berlin garrison meant you had a say in how you died, not *if* you died. 
 
 The men - really just boys playing war - had not slept that soundly either. Weidling turned and came face-to-face with one of them, who stood tall and proudly saluted. Brave to the last. 
 
 `` Yes, Lieutenant Leibniz?'' 
 
 `` Sir, we have seen some... troops. Over by the S-Bahn defensive ring.'' 
 
 Well, that was no surprise. The Soviets were right up against the edge, and it was probably wise to take a small peek. `` Let's go, boy,'' Weidling said. 
 
 The lieutenant did n't object. As they crawled over rubble, bent steel and broken glass, the sounds got louder and louder. Finally, they got to the S-Bahn, and the two of them took shelter behind a collapsed wall. Weidling kept his hand firmly on his pistol. Leibniz had only a stick grenade to use. 
 
 It was then that Weidling saw the tears in the boy's eyes. He was trying not to cry. Trying to be a hero for his country, Leibniz gripped the grenade tighter, and suddenly Weidling realised, with his years of experience, just what the boy was going to do- 
 
 `` Leibniz,'' Weidling said, but Leibniz had enough of the game. He yelled out to the advancing Soviet troops in unintelligible German. `` Go away!'' he screamed. `` Go away!'' 
 
 Weidling pounced on him, muffling his voice and drawing his pistol. `` You idiot!'' he hissed. `` I'll have you shot for this, you cowardly-'' 
 
 But Weidling never had the time, because from the other side floated perfectly sound German. `` Who is that? Show yourselves!'' 
 
 Both Leibniz and Weidling froze. Was this a Soviet trap? The Soviets had German interpreters, and sometimes this was a trap they used. On the other hand, it could be Busse's army or Wenck breaking through. With such poor communications one could hardly tell. Finally, Weidling freed Leibniz, who drew a ragged gasp. 
 
 `` We are the Wehrmacht,'' Weidling said. Silently, he gestured at Leibniz. *If it's the Soviets, run. Do n't stay for me. Go get help. * Leibniz nodded, and he braced himself against a rock, ready to push off. 
 
 `` Wehrmacht?'' the other side said. `` That term has n't been used in years, Herr Kamerad. You must be confused. We are members of the Nationale Volksarmee.'' 
 
 `` National people's army?'' Weidling asked. Leibniz was still frozen to the spot. `` There is no such thing. What Germany do you represent?'' 
 
 `` East Germany, East Berlin detachment,'' the reply came. `` And we want to know just why Berlin is destroyed.'' 
 
 Such was Weidling's surprise that he stood right up. And came face to face with a military unlike any he had ever seen before. Perfectly ironed, crisp uniforms. Guns so shiny they would repel mud. Clean, sleek - and speaking perfect German. 
 
 `` Are you OK?'' they asked. `` Good grief - your weapons are outdated! And why is there Nazi insignia-'' 
 
 `` Yes, yes,'' Weidling said. Quietly he motioned for Leibniz to join him, and the two of them stood in wonder atop the barricade, staring at a world without Nazi Germany. `` Something's really not right here.''
