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Into the Cage

Often it is only in adversity that a man rises above his superficial
character. For Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, now age fifty-
two, that adversity began with his delivery into American hands
on Tuesday evening, May , . He possessed at that moment
the same lethal elixir that many of his comrades now chose: he
had concealed about his personal effects at least three brass cap-
sules that Philipp (“Ango”) Bouhler had given him  each
fashioned from a nine-millimeter cartridge case about one and a
half inches (mm) long, and each containing a glass vial of h y -
drocyanic acid.
But he did not mean to swallow poison yet. He was acutely
aware that his illustrious name was now the butt of derision.
Meaner contemporaries might prostrate themselves before their
captors, but he would stand his ground, fight one last defiant
round, and die in honor.
As the little convoys of American and German cars met,