Che vs. Hitler

It was a sweltering day at a doctor’s office in Rosario, Argentina, but the amount of inpatients was less than usual. The head doctor had some time to sit in his office with a window that overlooked the city and smoke a Bolivar Royal Corona cigar. 

“Doctor, I just found out something huge that I need to tell you,” his assistant, Jose Martinez, said as he burst through the door. The man behind the desk turned around to face him as he puffed a cloud of smoke. His name was Dr. Ernesto “Che” Guevara. 

“What is it?” Che said. 

“I just discovered that Adolf Hitler was found here, hiding in Argentina,” Jose said. 

The doctor coughed violently, which his asthma only exacerbated. 

“Adolf Hiter? That's…that’s impossible. The Soviets killed him a decade ago,” he said. 

“If you don’t believe me, I have pictures in this folder here. You should take a look.”

Jose tossed the folder onto Che’s desk like a newspaper revealing who won the World Series. Five pictures were inside. One with the Chaplin-mustached dictator exiting a car and waving to another man waiting outside, another of him drinking coffee on a back patio of a mansion he was never seen at before, the next of him in the back of a Kaiser car that would only be driven in Argentina, and two more of him speaking to a group of other men wearing a fedora. He looked older than he would have been before his supposed “death.”

“I can’t believe this. He’s right here in our backyard,” Che said. 

“I know. A close colleague of mine from the Communist Party took the pictures. I’m aware you’ve been talking to Fidel Castro about joining him in Cuba, but I highly recommend you think about this before you take off.”

“Do you have an idea of where he is?” 

“From what I know, he’s hiding out in a mansion in Bariloche.”

Che sat back in his chair with the sunset beaming down on him as he took another drag of his cigar and looked at the wall for about 15 seconds.

“What do you suppose we do, Jose?” 

“I think we ought to pay him a visit. Show him justice for the 11 million he murdered.”

Che took five labored deep breaths before preparing an answer.

“It’s extremely dangerous. But it’s too enticing of an opportunity to refuse. If we plan it well, I can still join up with Castro in time. I’m sure he would understand a situation like this. We need to consult the party and get men together. He is one of the greatest agents of imperialism, and it’s a sin he’s still alive. We can right that wrong ourselves.”

Jose’s puckered lip grinned.

“Sounds like you’re in. I’ll talk to the party to gather men and supplies,” Jose said. “I implore you to come with me.”

“With pleasure.”

The next day, the doctors went to the office of the Argentinian Communist Party chairman, Miguel Bolivarez. He wrapped both his hands around each of theirs, who only extended one hand to him. 

“I’m so glad to see you both,” Miguel said. “I was appalled to learn Hitler was still alive. I need a tactical leader to carry this out, not a bureaucrat. That’s why I chose you, Che. Given how reliable of a comrade you’ve been, I had a feeling you’d accept.”

“You shouldn’t assume something like that, but you were right,” Che said. “I want to see that fascist dead just as much as anyone else. Can you arrange a meeting for me with your best revolutionaries to carry this mission out?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

About three weeks later, after strategizing and training with the 15 soldiers Miguel had recruited, Che and his soldiers were ready to slay the Führer. 

As the guerillas waited outside the mansion, they waited for their package to be delivered. It was a box of chocolates with a swastika on it which one of Hitler’s guards brought inside. Che’s comrade, Felix Suarez, pressed a button on a remote in his hand. The box of chocolates contained a plastic explosive, which tore the hands off of the guard holding it and burned two others around him. Che fired his AK-47 at two of the men outside, who both collapsed after their lungs were blown through. 

The guerillas hid from the trees as their bullets sprayed through all the front windows and left a tapestry of holes and webs of cracks in each one. They couldn’t tell how many people they shot, as it was broad daylight outside and the lights weren’t on in the mansion. They waited 10 seconds and still no return fire. Che put his hand up and waved it forward, and the rest followed.

Comrade Rodriguez kicked the door down and found five bodies on the floor in the front room, some of whom were still coughing up blood and others who were dead because of direct blows to the head. A Nazi poked his head out from behind the wall at the end of a hallway to fire, which left three bullets in Rodriguez’ chest. The rest of the guerillas stormed in behind Rodriguez to avenge him and tore the Nazi’s skull apart with a hail of rifle rounds. Still no sign of Hitler.

Other Nazis came through that hallway in retaliation, but the number of comrades behind Che overwhelmed them, despite a few of them being shot in non-lethal areas. Once those Nazis were destroyed, Che trudged forward to find the Führer. They found an office with a giant metal door on the wall. There were no knobs or bars to get it open. 

“Men, search the office and see if there’s a hidden button or lever to get that door open,” Che said. They then pulled all his books off the shelves, many of which were about “race science,” eugenics, and the occult. They pulled open all the drawers in his desk and couldn’t find anything but documents. There was a bust of Friedrich Nietzche on the desk, which one of the comrades knocked over. Underneath it was a black button he pressed. 

As the door crawled open, Che took a deep breath followed by a cough. 

“I want Suarez and Bolera to accompany me,” he said. “We’re going in. I want the rest of you to stay and guard the door. If you don’t see any of us come out in 10 minutes, then go in and finish him off.” 

The others nodded. The three guerillas stepped through the door and it boomed as it shut behind them. They raised their rifles and marched forward. A bullet went through Suarez’s arm, and Che immediately reacted to fire back at the man, who fell from an onslaught of ammo. More bullets pierced Bolera’s stomach, but he and Che were still able to put down his attacker by shooting him in the neck and chest. 

Bolera fell to the ground and went to hide behind a pillar. 

“Che, leave me be,” he said. “Go get the son of a bitch. I can’t move.”

“I’ll try.”

Che moved forward. After navigating through a few corners, he found the dictator sitting on a chair alone. He then rose up with a black cane adorned with a golden spherical head as Che pointed his AK at him. He pulled the trigger but only heard a click. Hitler knocked the gun out of his hand with his cane before Che pulled a serrated knife out of his sheath. Hitler then pulled a sword out of the cane shell. 

Hitler slashed at Che to slit his throat, which he blocked. He then pulled it back to stab the revolutionary in the shin. Although he yelled, the stab didn’t stop him from swinging a left hook at the Führer’s mouth. Hitler then spit out a tooth and bloodied saliva that Che knocked out. He followed up by shoving his knife as far into Hitler’s throat as he could and twisted the knife for good measure.

“This is for the 11 million you murdered in cold blood,” he whispered in his ear. As Hitler bled out on the floor, Che sawed through the bones connecting his head to the rest of his body.

The door opened as the guerilla troops aimed their rifles. Che emerged with a mustached head in his hand, holding it in grand display like a trophy to his troops. 

“Hooray!” as they thrusted their guns in the air. The monster was slain and his reign of terror was over.