What the fuck is it #245

But faith in the Fuhrer was not hard to maintain - it was child's play; in fact: he had remained safe and sound and was what he claimed to be, his gaze steady, ready to meet every eye, his field-grey uniform free of flashy medals. He was everywhere portrayed with only his Iron Cross from the Great War, majestic in his simplicity. The voice seemed to come from on high. He was impervious to attack. Did he not have the protection of something beyond understanding, of Providence?