“What is his name, did you get it?” the first transport soldier asked.
Jack rubbed the mud off the front of the officer’s uniform for effect. He of course knew the man’s name but it would have looked strange if he hadn’t done so. The name was partially covered with spilled blood but he could make out the name of Hitler.
“I know him,” the transport observed. “His name is Adolf Hitler. Another son of Germany shot down.”
Later that evening, when the fighting had slowed, Jack entered the makeshift morgue and looked down at the dead future dictator’s body. He knew that everything had changed.
Just like it had changed before for him.
He left the morgue area and walked back to the front trench. There, he looked across No Man’s Land. It was dark and on the wind he could hear movement on the other side of the blood-stained field. Most men would be on edge this close to death in the unknown of dark but the tension in the air calmed him. It cleared his mind so he could think.
Hitler was targeted, of that he had no doubt.
He had not been standing next to Hitler when he was shot; he was about ten feet away. The British had opened fire in short, scattered bursts – just the type of gunfire that made it difficult to rise above the top of the trench and fire back effectively.
As he was listening to the bursts, he noticed a change in one of the firing patterns. The bullets that had been firing over his head in a specific pattern stopped. The gunfire around him was still occurring but the gunfire targeted to his area in the trench ceased.
He risked a look over the trench wall and saw a British soldier taking specific aim. With the discharge from the barrel of the soldier’s rifle came a grunt from beside him. He had heard that grunt so often that he barely noticed it. But then he saw from whom the grunt escaped.
And he knew that grunt changed everything.
He couldn’t go immediately over to the fallen soldier as the British soldier who made the shot fell back in to his short, scattered bursts. But as he looked to his left, down at the body of man who had been shot - Adolf Hitler - he knew everything that Germany might become was now gone.
When he finally made his way to Hitler’s side, just in time to watch him die, several thoughts went through his mind. Most of the other soldiers knew little of Hitler. He, however, knew much.
He recognized that the death of Adolf Hitler may or may not be noticed by others. In the end, as far as Germany was concerned, there were thousands dying in the war and the death of one soldier was of little importance.
He knew the war would soon be lost. The Allied forces were just too much. In little more than a year, it would all be over. The deaths of so many would all be in vain.
Hitler was dead. Now, he would find the man who killed him.
He cared nothing for Hitler. In fact, he thought Hitler a coward hiding behind orders, not brave enough to carry out his desired atrocities on his own. But the man who killed Hitler - now he would be interesting.
It was war but he recognized murder when he saw it. Hitler had been shot in the heat of battle but the premeditation that he knew existed in the British soldier amounted to murder. He would just need to learn the identity of the shooter.
If he had the opportunity during a cease fire, he would leave the trench into No Man’s Land and see if he could draw the man into a fight. This was a great source of amusement and both sides would watch as the two men fought, cheering their countrymen on. When it was finished, the men would return to their own side and the shooting would begin again.
He wouldn’t kill the man. Not yet. He just wanted to find out what he knew.
And how he got there.
If that opportunity did not arrive, when the war was over he would follow the man back to England and there he would question the man and find out what he knew. The Germans had men on the other side and he had the money to find out whatever information he needed.
He would learn more of the man who had changed the world’s history.
Before all of that, however, he needed to eat. He saw a group of men sitting in the mud and came up next to them, joining them in the mire. “Where’ve you been, Hans? You nearly missed this fine food,” a German said laughing. The food consisted of slightly moldy bread and cheese that had once been extremely hard but was now soggy due to the rain.
“I’ve been out seeing what sort of trouble I could find.”
The German laughed. “Well, there’s plenty of that.”
Jack smiled back. And not just because of the joke. In fact, the joke was on them. Soon they would all be dead. Whether by gunfire or his knife across their throat, they would be dead.
They knew him as Hans but his real name was Jack. History knew him as Jack the Ripper.
As Jack pulled out his knife, the man in the shadows watched and smiled.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Washington, D.C. – November 1917
Libby felt the change. Everything was different. She couldn’t explain the difference, she just knew the world had changed. She was sitting in the Oval Office when she felt it.
At first it was just an uneasy feeling – like she was coming out of a dream but not sure whether she was still dreaming or awake. Reality seemed to alter itself and she
