BERLIN,
APRIL 30TH, 1945.

From his position behind one of the piles of rubble that vied with the fires and bomb craters to be this battered city's most ubiquitous feature, the man in the shadows watched his prey through narrowed eyes. To those who could read such things, his uniform identified him as an SS Sturmbannfuehrer. To those who could read a man's soul, those eyes marked him as a ruthless killer.

These were the last, dying hours of the Third Reich. Berlin was ringed by Soviet troops, the Red Army closing in and tightening the noose as they fought their way ever closer to the Reich Chancellery and to the ultimate prize, the capture of Adolf Hitler himself. It was one of these advancing soldiers who was the focus of the Sturmbannfuehrer's interest. Battling their way in from the north, this arm of the Red Army advance had swept aside the Volksturm units that opposed them, penetrating west of Berlin and moving into the streets between the Bismarckstrasse and the Kantstrasse. Fighting between the Red Army and the city's defenders, under the overall command of the city commandant General Weidling, was now being conducted house-to-house in that warren of small streets. Every inch of ground was being bought at tremendous cost in blood despite those defenders often being the boys and old men that were all the Reich could now muster. It was in the nature of such combat that individual soldiers often got separated from their comrades, and unfortunate for one such soldier that he was now in reach of the man in the shadows.

Since being drafted in the dark days of 1942, Alexei Denisovitch had fought bravely first in defence of the rodina and then as part of the avenging force rolling back the fascist imperialist aggressor. He hadn't expected to live as long as this, but now that he had, now it was obvious the time left to the Third Reich could be measured in hours, he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he would live to once again see his family's small farm in Georgia. The man in the shadows reaching out from his place of concealment and violently twisting Alexei's head around ended that dream with a single loud crack.

To Sturmbannfuehrer Heinrich Krueger, Alexei Denisovitch's death was just one more in a long line. He felt nothing. Moving swiftly and efficiently, Krueger stripped him of his Red Army uniform, stuffing this into a backpack he had brought along for that purpose. Swinging the backpack over his shoulder and carrying his victim's rifle and helmet, Krueger headed for the relative safety of the area around the Chancellery still controlled by Berlin's defenders, leaving Denisovitch to the rats.

He had travelled only a short distance, when a sound from a bombed out building he was passing caused him to wheel about, rifle at the ready.

"Don't shoot!" said a female voice, "Please!"

She was blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful, like something from a propaganda poster touting Aryan perfection, but now as dirty and dishevelled as everyone else fighting to protect this ruined city. Clad in the uniform of a blitz madchen, she looked awfully young.

"Who are you?" demanded Kreuger. "Why are you here?"

"My name is Eva Schreiber," she said, voice trembling. "My friends and I were caught out in the open during the last round of shelling, so we sought shelter in this building. They were killed, and I've only just dug myself out."

"Congratulations," said Kreuger, lowering his rifle and resuming his journey.

"Wait!" she cried, scrambling after him. "Take me with you."

He stared at her coldly.

"Accompany me if you must, but I won't be responsible for your safety. I won't take that responsibility for anyone, not anymore."

Eva nodded wordlessly, and fell in beside him. They had gone only a few yards more when Kreuger stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" asked Eva, but he shook his head, listening intensely.

Krueger had been in combat situations many more times than he could remember and had long since developed the instincts that could mean the difference between living or dying on the battlefield. It was these that made him suddenly freeze in his tracks half way along the Charlottenburger Chausee. He didn't know what was wrong, he just knew that something was. Crouching down, sniffing the air, he tried to get a fix on what had set alarms ringing in his head. He was in no immediate danger from the Red Army; from the gunfire exchanges he could hear they were still several streets away. They had temporarily stopped shelling the area since they could no longer do so without killing their own troops, and there were no tanks nearby. He had had to leap for cover during his outward trip when a Russian fighter strafed the road he was using, but there were no airplanes overhead at the moment. So what was it?

One moment he was wondering this then, without warning, he and Eva were both falling forward. They were unconscious before they hit the ground.