Starting in the spring of 1945 quite a few European fascisti expats found Argentina's Bariloche and Villa General Belgrano suitably ... forgiving.

Immolating yourself for MAGAFuehrer is showing ultimate love for MAGAFuehrer.
The reward?
Zip, nada, ugatz.
Suckers and losers, one and all.

Yup, Coriolanus, remember it well. Along the way, a German barber I encountered ages ago in AZ had served on the "Eastern Front" in a "special group" until captured at Stalingrad. He was released in the 1950s from some Far Eastern gulag and told he could find he own way home. An Austrian friend's father ended up with the Wehrmacht at Stalingrad. As the ring tightened, he wrote letters home with detailed accounts of imaginary meals because he was starving to death. Then nothing. Later, after the war, the family was told by one of his mates the guy was killed, by another captured. In the early 1050s my friend accompanied his mother to Vienna's main train station whenever the radio announced another batch of repatriated POWs chugging in from the East on the off-chance his dad might be among them. His father never appeared. (Soviet POWs in German hands had almost no chance at all.)