He stepped into view along the Tea House trail below the Berghof. The uniform was right. The cap was right. He could not see his face. A German Shepard bounced along beside him, into and out of the woods, the early November air crisp and clean, a smattering of snow filtering through the trees. Secretary Bormann stood with him ... as the crosshairs zeroed in. One more step ... and the course of the war will disintegrate into chaos. The man turned and looked right at him - the mustache, the face. He squeezed the trigger ... was it the right face?
