August 22, 1939, evening, we're a temple of airport in Berlin. With darkness falling,

your Kim von Ribentrop, foreign minister of the Third Reich, walks across the runway.

There's a free son of excitement amongst the Nazi officials gathered. Those privileged

few with security clearance, the ones who know the purpose of his mission. Ribentrop

mounts the steps of a giant fuck of wolf condor. Its engines hum, ready for takeoff.

The tail fin is emblazoned with a bright red band, on it a huge black on-white swastika.

In his fine tailored suit, Ribentrop smiles with the authorised newsreel camera. Once aboard

he waves from the cabin window. The plane climbs up into the sky and sets a course with

the eastern horizon. The next day, at noon, Russian time, it taxis to a halt in Moscow.

Ribentrop disembarks in a leather trench coat, though summer it's unseasonably chilly in Russia.

But then everything about this voyage is strange, a step into the unknown. When Ribentrop

is greeted by his opposite number, the two men are unsure at first, whether they should

even shake hands. It's an unusual sight for everyone. The swastika hanging next to the

hammer and sickle. Nazism and communism side by side. These two sworn enemies are suddenly

body and up. Ribentrop climbs into a car. A driver and a baggy cap stamps out his cigarette

and whisks him off to the Kremlin. The German aircraft, the condor, is a big four-engine

beast. One of several types of Nazi warplane that have been masquerading in civilian guys.

When months to come, condors will be re-kitted and armed to the teeth. They will range out

into the North Atlantic to attack Allied shipping. But before that, right now, Ribentrop

is about to drop his very own bombshell.

One noiser, this is the Hitler story. And this is real dictators.

In the year 1938, Hitler has moved at a devastating pace. Within just seven months, he's forced

...