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The dial read 3:00 minutes to entry.

Despite the violent, rapid tremors eminating throughout the cockpit, the only thought that crossed Jack’s mind was that he tasted metal. He worried silentely to himself that it was not mentioned in training.

The intense heat building outside the capsule was mentioned in training and, while rather hot and uncomfortable, the comfort Jack took in the fact that his protective suit prevented any long-term radioactive tissue damage helped.

The capsule came to an abrupt halt and let out a loud HISSS.

It was Jack’s first flight but he studied the topography well and knew by now he should be just a few miles from Vienna, near the Mariahilf district. Jack looked outside, it was night. He opened the hatch of the capsule, breathed deep, paused a moment, closed his eyes and took another, deeper breath. He never breathed air like that before. Clean, fresh air. A respite from the thick smog to which he was accustomed.

After a minute, Jack’s mind returned to the mission. Consulting a map, he determined he and the craft were settled in a field somewhere just off of Loquaiplatz St. - mere blocks from his objective. He glanced at his watch - 2:45 a.m.

Jack removed an old, raggedy book from his coat, no bigger than a small diary. It was tattered and ravished by age, yellowed and torn by the decades that passed since ink was last scribbled upon its pages. He flipped through it, briefly refreshing his memory of key mission details by what little could be discerned from the writings and returned the book to his coat pocket.

Jack camouflaged the capsule of his craft as best he could with nearby brush and leaves and set off toward his objective: The Mark. 

It was dark. No moon hung in the cold night above the Mariahilf district. The gray cobble-stone streets were empty and dimly lit by the lantern flames hanging from poles at each corner. Despite the calm, Jack thought it best to use the alleyways in an effort to remain unnoticed. His heart raced as he walked the three blocks to Stumpergasse St., going over the details of his mission as he neared. 

Once there, standing under a street lamp at the intersection of Stumpergasse and Liniengasse St., Jack removed something from his pants pocket and held it up to the light. It was a very old, ragged and torn black-and-white photograph of an apartment building. Glancing back up at his surroundings, he crossed the street toward a similar building, a row of apartments stretching the length of the street. The building he stood before was made of freshly-lain brick, the smell of new construction still in the air. Jack glanced down once more at the yellowed photograph, then back up again at the building - confirmed they were the same, and entered. 

Inside the lobby, a night porter dozed quietly at his desk near the entryway. Jack crossed the lobby toward a nearby stairwell and crept silently to the third floor so as not to disturb any of the sleeping tenants.

He walked the length of the hallway, searching for a specific room. He stopped at a door which had a metallic “2.9.” nailed to it, reached into his pocket, produced a key, and slid it quietly into the keyhole.

Jack opened the door without a sound.

He entered the dormitory-style room and shut the door behind him. It was pitch black in the room. Pausing a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, he looked around and saw two small beds against opposite walls; in both, a human-sized heap of blankets rhythmically rising and falling with each breath.

Above the bed on the left side of the room, he saw the initials “A.H.” crudley carved into the wooden headboard. Jack moved in closer.

Next to the bed was a nightstand and, on it, a small book. Jack reached over with his right hand and picked up the book, taking great care not to betray the silence. With his left, he once again produced the old book he carried in his coat and held it up to compare the two: the same. Still legible on the front of each, in German: “Diary: Adolf Hitler.”

Jack set the books down and removed a silenced .45 caliber pistol from his waistband. He pulled back the bedcovers, exposing a tuft of dark hair, placed the barrel of his weapon against the young man’s temple, and fired.