100
Some of the wooded area was too dense for vehicular travel.
On occasion, the guards would leave their vehicle and walk through the denser areas.
At one point, the unit parked its jeep right at the edge of the wooded area, precisely at the point where Bauer planned to assassinate Adolf Hitler in thirty minutes.
Bauer observed all of this from his perch high up in a spruce tree that he had climbed before dawn, preferring the cover of trees to the ground.
He could see Hitler’s house, the Berghof, with his binoculars.
He could see the sentry towers by Hermann Goring’s residence and by the theater hall still under construction.
It was sunny outside. The brightness, he thought, helped obscure the four-square-centimeter hole that von der Haas had cut in the fence.
He checked his wristwatch. It was coming up on ten in the morning.
Only a moment later, he heard the RSD dogs, sent along a path that not long thereafter would be walked by the most dangerous man on the planet, quite possibly the most dangerous man of the twentieth century.
Then he heard the hum of a vehicle driving along the path. An SS vehicle providing forward cover.
Bauer didn’t have a shot from his perch in the tree, didn’t have the position to shoot while straddling a branch. It was time to climb down.
He couldn’t place the position of the jeep that was patrolling the woods. His ears told him it was not close, but he couldn’t see. This was not ideal. But it was now or never.
Bauer slowly climbed down, dangling from a low branch and then trying to land as quietly as possible, as softly as he could with a sniper rifle slung over his back.
He got into a crouch and hewed close to the tree trunk.
He got into position, aligning the sight on his rifle with the hole in the wire fence.
He was exposed, no question. He had the shadow of tree cover but nothing more. Anyone looking in this direction with purpose would see him. The best he could do was remain absolutely still.
He heard voices. “Sieg heil!” they shouted in unison. Patrol officers saluting their leader. Hitler was on the path. It would be a matter of minutes now.
Bauer looked over his sight. He could see Hitler walking with his two dogs, German shepherds.
He had no shot from here; the fence was too high; a bullet wouldn’t make it through unmolested.
But he could see the man. He could hear his voice, too, though he couldn’t make out the words, speaking to his dogs.
Enough. Hitler would be in the target range in only a minute or two, and Bauer would only have one chance to do this, one shot. He raised the rifle again and poised the sight over the hole in the fence.
But then he heard barking—rabid, violent barking. Bauer looked over his sight again. He could see what was happening well enough.
A wolf or fox or coyote—some wild animal—was on Bauer’s side of the fence, pawing at the wire, growling and hissing at Hitler’s dogs, which rushed toward the fence in response. Hitler shouted and waved his arms. One of the SS patrol cars raced forward.
“Do something!” Hitler shouted. “Get that animal away from my dogs!”
Bauer’s heartbeat ratcheted up.
Two SS guards jumped out of their patrol jeep with their rifles raised.
“No,” Bauer whispered. “No, God, don’t shoot—”
Both guards discharged their rifles, possibly to scare the wild animal away, maybe to kill it. But it didn’t matter why. The noise from the rifle shots did the trick.
The first explosion came almost instantly, within a few meters of where the melee was occurring, the first of the sound-sensitive detonators doing its work. Then another, and another, a ripple of pops, tiny plots of earth erupting along the fence.
Through the dust and dirt and confusion, Bauer saw the SS guards race toward Hitler, who was bent at the waist, moving toward them.
Bauer jumped to his feet and opened fire with his rifle, spraying bullets in Hitler’s direction, hoping that something would connect despite the fence. He knew his chances were slim, but he had to try something—
The tree next to him exploded with bullets. Bauer fell to the ground and emptied the last of his artillery at the jeep heading his way, aiming for its tires. He was on his feet, retreating, before he heard the crunch of the vehicle crashing.
He started running but stumbled soon after. He returned to his feet and started running again, his legs heavier now.
“I tried,” he whispered, as he felt his energy drain, his lungs burning. “I tried.”
He kept running through the shadows of the woods, lumbering as if moving in water, as if running in slow motion, but he didn’t stop.
He didn’t think he would make it to the bridge. But it didn’t matter. All he could do was run. Run to Amalie, run to the children, take them in his arms and hold them tight and protect them and love them forever in a world where there was no war, there was no hate—
“Bauer!”
Erich von der Haas rushed across the bridge. Bauer fell forward into his arms. “I tried,” he said.
“Oh, God, you’re hit, Bauer. You’re bleeding badly. We have to get you out of here!”
“Tell Amalie I tried,” he whispered, before he slid to the ground.