ABSTRACT
On May 1, 1930, I fell from space toward northern Germany, on
a sacred mission to kill the most dangerous man in the world. To
conserve mass, my spacesuit and ceramic foam heat shield were
built to the strictest specifications, and I had only 10 minutes of air.
Petit woman that I am, the entry mass was well under a hundred
kilograms. I felt the slightest pressure of the outermost atmosphere
and braced myself for the frightful ride that was only just beginning.
This was no time for second thoughts, but memory took me back to
the moment, either 5 years ago or 500 years ahead, depending on
one’s perspective, when the desperate plan was hatched.
