Last Day of the Reich

Hitler was in trouble again. The place was surrounded, and it wasn't like he could just give himself up. Oh no. They'd rip him apart.
Been a long time coming he guessed, and now the heat was on.
There were only two of them left; him and his James Mason look-alike, second-in-command. He would stay pretty solid while Hitler was still around. But after that, well you just couldn't get the staff.
But now it was just two of them, and two doors to watch; that's as thin as it gets.
So while James Mason (the look-alike) was out the front, Hitler was watching the back door. The entire American Army was sneaking round the back, but every now and then he'd catch sight of them through the frosted glass, and then he'd bang on the door and shout, and they'd scuttle back into cover. Them Yanks weren't up for a suicide charge. Lucky for Hitler.
But he'd slipped up somehow, gone to the bog or got reading the paper, anyway he'd taken his mind off the job for a sec and one of those Yanks had slipped through the door and was snaking through the front room. Now, James Mason (you know the one) was off up the front somewhere, arguing with the Russkies, leaving Hitler on his own. But the Yank hadn't seen him so up he sneaked, pulled out his long shiny SS knife (a birthday present from dear Heinrich), pulled the Yank's head back and jabbed the blade into his neck. Hitler pulled it across real quick, making a big rip like a new mouth across the Yank's throat, to silence and kill him as quick as poss, before any more came through the door.
Well it was over quickly and Hitler dumped the body behind the sofa. It was exciting, killing someone so close at hand. It was a first for him, despite the millions dead, and he felt quite chuffed with himself.
Back to the door.
Well this situation went on for a bit, and Hitler and James Mason (yep him), they decided enough was enough. They decided that James Mason'd make a last- ditch charge and Hitler'd leg it out the back. If they got him they got him, it was all over now anyway.
So they got the old bike out of the conservatory, and balanced a plank of wood over the back wheel's mud guard. Then they tied the last two cans of petrol to either end of the plank, and with a cloth fuse burning out of both of them James Mason rode the bike out from the front door, and into the Russkies, his black leather Mac flapping behind him, and his forage cap wedged down hard on his head.
Hitler flew to the back door, and peeked out.
The whole American Army had run round the front to see what all the noise was about.
The street was silent. Like any week day, he could see Mr Werner putting out the empties down on the corner, and that other bloke's wife trimming the hedge.
Now was his chance!
He flew out the door and over the road, to the junction and up the next street. He cursed himself for not shaving first, that bloody trademark moustache was a bloody mistake.. And that haircut! All he could do was duck down his head and mess up his hair as best he could. Desperate measures, desperate times. No-one was looking yet.
But he'd forgotten his injuries: he was dragging his leg, the legacy of a nasty turn-out with the Russkies out the front; he'd never be able to run away, he'd have to hide.
Hitler could hear engines; the Yanks were coming back, so he dived behind a privet hedge, lay on the floor and waited.
The troops were searching, they knew he was out. Maybe James Mason (the bastard) had told them.
His last bit of luck ran out. Next door's cat had spotted him. It was fascinated: the man it hated, its lifelong arch enemy, was lying face down in the garden. It came over to have a better look, and one of those Yanks just had to be a cat-lover, didn't he? The Yank made a bee-line for the cat.
Never trust a cat-lover. They're all bastards.
Hitler knew it was up so he got up to run, but just couldn't move fast enough, and "Gotcha! a Yank private nabbed him, and hauled him off to face the music.
His only consolation, he thought as they stuck him in the back of a truck, was thank god it wasn't the Russian hordes; they were barbarians. Just look at what they'd done to the rose bushes.