There were regular sightings of Gretl and her little girl. Her daughter Eva Barbara, named after her aunt, had been born in 1945 only days after Gretl’s husband and the child’s father, Hermann Fegelein, was shot for desertion and treason. However, of Eva, there was no sign. After nearly two weeks, even Manteufel had to admit defeat.
The final hope of finding Eva rested on her parents’ home in Ruhpolding, some ninety kilometres or so from Munich. Accommodation was easy to find as the place was a tourist haven for skiers and mountaineers. After reconnoitring the area, Kelly found a hill in a wood which partially surrounded the old farmhouse the couple occupied. The hill gave him a perfect view of the couple’s back garden, about two hundred yards away, but still providing good concealment. The back garden had been laid out in the form of a children’s play area with a sandpit, a slide and a swing. It could, of course, be for Gretl’s little girl when she visited, but then again …
It was the second day of his surveillance. The previous day had been miserable in the extreme. He had lain for some twelve hours in the same position in persistent drizzle and had ended his watch freezing cold and soaking wet. The evening watch was provided by Manteufel and Sybilla in slightly more luxurious surroundings—a hide near the entrance to the drive leading to the farmhouse, where they could observe any comings and goings. There had been none.
Kelly was thankful that the next day had dawned bright and free from mist and drizzle. It was still extremely cold, but he was dressed for that, with a number of layers under his camouflage.
He froze as a woman emerged from the double doors leading to the inside of the house. Pulling his rifle into his shoulder, he gazed down the telescopic sight to get a clearer view of her. It was Eva Braun! He was absolutely certain. He had seen Gretl several times during their last stake-out, and it was definitely not her.
Kelly tried to quell the rising excitement he felt. He must remain calm. Eva sat down at a bench near the end of the garden and opened a magazine she had been carrying. The side door opened and a child emerged, running towards her. Kelly could clearly hear the shouts as it approached.
“Mutti! Mutti!”
Eva picked up the child and held it in an embrace for a minute until it broke free and ran to the swing. Once on the swing, Kelly had a clearer view.
Gasping in horror, he lowered his rifle. It was a little girl!
Why had no one considered this possibility? It was after all a fifty-fifty chance. Why had he not considered it? He and everyone else had blithely assumed that Hitler’s heir must be a boy, but here she was.
Kelly’s mind was a maelstrom of emotions. He tried to be calm and rational and think the issue through. So, it was a girl—what difference did it make? Europe was a tinderbox with the Soviets and the Allies hurling abuse at each other, and this child—this little girl—had the potential to spark a flame in the German people that could set the whole continent ablaze once more. A child whose very existence could be the catalyst needed to start a nuclear conflict that would cost the lives of millions. It made no difference that she was a girl. The risks remained the same.
Kelly pulled the rifle into his shoulder and thumbed the safety catch to ‘fire’. Peering down the scope, he lined up the cross hairs on the child’s chest. She was quite still, trying to remove her mittens. Controlling his breathing, he hovered his finger over the hair trigger, then lowered the rifle. He closed his eyes for a minute and cursed himself for his indecision. With a barely audible growl, he snatched up the rifle again and sighted it on the child … he would fire! Would he fire?
Could he fire?
The End?
Dragan Kelly will return for further adventures.
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Also by Peter Alderson Sharp
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