Prologue

7.26 a.m., July 13th, 1944

Berghof, Germany

Nathan Archer

"What are the wind conditions?" I made an art of not moving when asking. My lips would barely even move as I asked.

"Adjust for 1,5 meters" my spotter said with his thick Polish accent. Gabryjel was a Polish Nazi deserter. When a group of British soldiers had taken his base, he had simply laid down his rifle and folded his hands behind his head. He didn't even believe in the Nazi cause, but as he had said himself: When Germans come to my village, put a gun to the head of my family and say "Fight with us, or die!" it is no choice. So he had jumped at the thought of helping with the assassination of the Fuhrer.

We were currently lying near the forest edge, near the Berghof. The bastard thought himself safe here, so he took a very punctual morning walk every day. Without his personal bodyguards even. Every assassin's wet dream.

I took a deep breath as my chin rested on the wooden stock of the Karabiner 98 Kurtz rifle. I didn't use the iron-sight the rifle was equipped with, but had brought my own specially constructed scope for the mission.

The rifle was easy enough to obtain. We had been living with a local for a week, and when dressed like German soldiers, it was hardly even a challenge to get myself into an armory.

Of course we had attempted to find a spot that was as comfortable as possible to lie down in for several hours, but I could still feel a branch poking my stomach.

I shrugged it off. My lungs slowly breathed out the warm air. I looked through my own bronze scope and saw a man walking on the expected route. My leather clad hand moved to the right knob on the bronze cylinder. Like magic, the image in the scope zoomed in on the mans face. "Target in sight" I said. The Fuhrer had arrived. Dressed in a military duster coat and a hat, his moustache and low stature was the only thing that distinguished him from his generals, but even when looking right at the familiar face through my scope, I had to be sure. "Show me the picture."

Gabryjel held the picture of the Fuhrer in front of me. I looked at it, then through the scope again. "Target confirmed, I have Hitler in sight."

"Good. Blow that ugly moustache of his, RIGHT off his God damn face!" Gabryjel said with hatred burning in his voice.

I took a deep breath. Held it. I trained the scope on his head. I want the pink mist, I thought to myself. Slowly, I let my breath go, and then my finger softly squeezed the trigger.