Finally, the colonel sat back and called for the guard.
‘What now?’ demanded Paul as the lieutenant opened the door. ‘Will you pass on what I have told you?’
The colonel glanced at him almost indifferently. ‘We’ll see.’
Once more Paul found himself in the small room, locked in again and feeling a sense of bitterness and frustration. After the sacrifice he had made, the Allies did not seem to be taking him seriously. Damn them! He lay on the small iron cot and watched the sky darkening through the barred window.
*
On the morning of Saturday, 24 February, the Allies were closing the steel ring around the Third Reich. The Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force had been established at Rheims and the Americans were pouring through the Siegfried line in the Roer sector. Dueren, Forbach, Rurich and Juelich had fallen to them, and they had consolidated themselves along a 30-mile front within 20 miles of Cologne. The British and Canadians were gathering their forces for a thrust across the line at Wezel, while in the east, Major General Mettern had surrendered 23,000 men to the Soviets at Arnswalde, leaving little in the way of the Red Army’s advance toward Berlin. Already some of Hitler’s most trusted friends and partners in crime were preparing to leave the sinking ship. Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer, head of the infamous SS, had contacted Count Bernadotte of Sweden to open negotiations with the Allies to save his skin.
As the noose tightened, Hitler ordered Bormann to complete the final draft of his orders for the destruction of the German nation. Germany was to become one vast wasteland. If the Allies overran the Reich, then nothing was to be left with which the German people might somehow survive their defeat. The Führer’s directive was that all military, industrial, transportation and communication installations as well as all stores within Germany must be destroyed to prevent them from falling into the hands of the enemy. Hospitals, schools and other public buildings were to be blown up. Food-stores, water reservoirs and other public provisions and services were to be destroyed. All Gauleiters and ‘commissars for defence’ were to see that the instructions were carried out, and anyone who opposed them was to be shot.
‘A scorched-earth policy,’ raved the Fuhrer, ‘is the only way. If the German nation is defeated then it deserves to be wiped from the face of the earth.’
Bormann smiled gravely. ‘But before you promulgate this directive, my Führer,’ he said coyly, ‘we should await the result of Project Wotan. Who knows but that the whole future might change?’
Hitler stared for a moment at the Reichsleiter. ‘When will the rockets fly, Martin?’ he muttered thickly.
‘Heiden has assured us that they will be launched four days from now. Only four days more. Either that or we shall detonate them at the site itself, which act could appropriately coincide with your proclamation.’
The Fuhrer was smiling now. ‘Of course! Of course, Martin. But get the draft ready … all industrial plants, all electrical facilities, water works, gas works, food stores, clothing stores, all bridges, railways, waterways, all ships, civil and military, freight cars, locomotives … nothing must be left if we are to go under. Nothing!’
*
Paul was awoken just after dawn that Saturday by the lieutenant and told to follow him. This time he was led into another room which was more comfortably furnished than the first interrogation room. There were several leather-upholstered chairs. The floor was richly carpeted. There was a fire in the fireplace, and books lined the oak panelled walls.
The colonel was seated in one of the armchairs and a middle-aged civilian in the other. He had dark, almost raven-black hair, a fresh complexion and ruddy cheeks which reminded Paul of a man used to the outdoors — like a Westphalian farmer. His eyes were bright and penetrating.
‘Come in, Herr Doctor,’ the colonel said. ‘Come and sit down.’
Paul sank into the chair indicated while the lieutenant left the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Now let us run over your story again.’
Paul jerked upright. ‘I have already … ’ he began, when the stirring of another figure interrupted him. A lanky man moved from the shadows which had hidden him on the far side of the room.
‘Sorry to put you through this again, doctor,’ the man said. ‘However, I would be grateful to hear your story from your own lips.’
Paul saw that the newcomer was also dressed in the uniform of a British army colonel. He was in his mid-forties, with nondescript light brown hair, a lock of which hung rebelliously across his broad forehead. His face was angular, his eyes light brown. Although he was tall, his frame was slightly stooped.
‘Just go briefly over the background, doctor,’ he prompted.
Paul began his story again. He was interrupted only now and then on points of clarification by the lanky colonel, who seemed to possess a thorough knowledge of the Widerstand and its organization. However, when Paul came to the subject of Project Wotan it was the ruddy-faced civilian who started asking questions.
‘Can you describe the rockets which you saw?’
Paul nodded. ‘I can probably draw them better than I can describe them,’ he said.
Pencil and paper were supplied.
The civilian examined the drawing critically. Disappointment was clear upon his features.
‘Standard V2 rockets.’
The colonel glanced at Paul. ‘What do you know about these rockets?’ he asked.
‘No more than what von Knilling told me.’
‘Standard design has them with a range of 250 miles and a warhead of 5000 pounds of TNT,’ said the civilian. ‘Yet you say von Knilling believes them to contain a warhead able to wipe out the cities of Münster and Dortmund, or London if the rocket should fall there?’
Paul nodded. ‘I have already told you about this atomic device … this super-bomb.’
‘Tell us again,’ invited the colonel with a pleasant smile.
Once again Paul went through everything von Knilling had said. There was no doubt about the interest of the civilian, who launched into a torrent of questions. It was obvious to Paul that the man was a scientist who knew exactly what von Knilling was talking about. Paul answered the questions to the best of his ability, but could really add nothing to his report of what von Knilling had told him.
At last the lanky colonel and the civilian seemed in silent agreement that they had reached a conclusion. The colonel smiled. ‘Thank you, doctor.’
As if on cue, the door opened and the lieutenant stood there. Paul rose to his feet uncertainly.
‘What are you going to do?’
The colonel simply said, ‘We’ll see.’
Reluctantly Paul followed the lieutenant back to his room. He felt tired — tired and frustrated. He flung himself down onto the uncomfortable cot and started to think about Magda. He would have done better to stay with her at the farm near Xanten. It was obvious that the British weren’t going to do a thing. It was with a sense of defeat that he fell abruptly into a deep sleep.
He came awake feeling refreshed and reasoned that, having at least communicated what he knew to someone who in any case had an understanding of what it was all about, he had cleared his mind and was entitled to feel some degree of relief. It was now dark in the room and he supposed he had slept all day.
Abruptly the door opened and a light snapped on. This time it was a sergeant of military police. He held out a toilet towel, soap and shaving tackle.
‘This way. Shower and shave,’ he grunted.
A few minutes later Paul felt wonderfully relaxed, having had his first hot shower in days. There was another pleasant surprise now, for in his room was a tray with coffee, real coffee, and eggs, bacon and some thick hunks of fresh white bread. It was luxury.
‘Eat up,’ grunted the sergeant. ‘The colonel wants to see you as soon as possible.’
Chapter Twenty
There were half a dozen people in the room as Paul entered. The lanky British colonel rose to greet him. P
aul noticed that the ruddy-faced civilian was there, as well as an American major and a British captain. The elderly colonel who had first interviewed him was leaving the room as he entered.
‘Come in and sit down, doctor,’ the lanky colonel said.
Paul took one of the easy chairs and a packet of cigarettes was thrust towards him. He shook his head. The lanky colonel was in the chair opposite him, sitting well back, hands together; like a priest about to hear confession, Paul thought. ‘Doctor, my name is Austin Roberts. Colonel Roberts. I am in charge of the German Department of Section D, British Military Intelligence.’
The colonel paused to give Paul a moment to digest the information. ‘We have been examining the information which you have brought us, doctor. We find it alarming. We have a proposition to put to you.’
The bright eyes stared directly at Paul. After a moment Paul realized that they wanted some kind of response from him. ‘Yes? What proposition?’
‘Would you be willing to accompany a small group of saboteurs to the site of this Project Wotan? Would you be willing to guide them directly to the site?’
Paul caught his breath for a moment. He had been asking himself that question since he had first decided to contact the Allies. Then he exhaled deeply. A grim smile crept around his mouth.
‘So after all the questioning, you finally believe me?’
Roberts’ face was bland. ‘It is not a question of belief or disbelief, doctor. You have served in the Wehrmacht and must know something of the military mind. We have heard many bizarre stories over the years. Our task is to interrogate and determine what is true and what is untrue.’
At this point the ruddy-faced civilian leant forward. His expression was serious.
‘From the information you have given us, via von Knilling, your Project Wotan is probably the greatest threat we have to face, not just to us but to the whole future of Europe.’
Roberts gave a brief glance of annoyance in the civilian’s direction. ‘Having brought us this information, doctor, we know that you are a German civilian but we would hope … ’
Paul’s mind was working quickly and following a logical pattern of thought. ‘What is the purpose of this sabotage group, colonel?’ he interrupted.
‘To render these super-bombs harmless.’
‘And how would that be achieved? Achieved safely?’
Roberts looked uncomfortable.
The civilian smiled soberly. ‘He has a right to know, Roberts.’
Roberts nodded towards the civilian. ‘This is Doctor Kendall. He is a physicist who was flown here as soon as we read your initial interrogation from the Canadian unit which picked you up. Kendall has been following the work on atomic energy.’
Paul stared curiously at the civilian for a moment and then asked, ‘Given that Doctor Kendall is capable of defusing or dismantling the bombs, what would be the plan of the group and how big would it be?’
Again Roberts paused in apparent discomfort. This time it was the American major who spoke up, saying with a chuckle, ‘Hell, Colonel, might as well go the whole hog. I guess he has a right to know the set-up before volunteering.’
The major was a heavily-built man of about thirty, with dark brown unruly hair and the expression of a hound straining at the leash, impatient to be away and doing.
Roberts turned his gaze back to Paul. ‘We believe, from what you tell us, that only a small party has any hope of getting through to the site and achieving its purpose. So the total personnel would be four people, providing you went along.’
Paul stared incredulously at Roberts. ‘Four? Including me? That’s ridiculous. The site is guarded by at least one full battalion of Waffen-SS, and that’s not including the technical crews and scientists on the site.’
The thick-set major paused in the act of lighting a cigarette.
‘Yeah, we’ve taken that into account, doctor. Fact is, the colonel here is right. It’s no use sending a task force to capture the site. There’s several miles of enemy-held territory between it and here … ’
‘I was thinking of your paratroops,’ Paul interrupted.
The major shook his head. ‘The moment our boys start dropping from the sky, it wouldn’t require a talented officer to know what their objective was. From what you tell us, our friends would simply launch the rockets or detonate the bombs there and then. Anyway, the forest in which the place is sited wouldn’t make a safe dropping zone for an airborne attack. Our only hope is sabotage by a small group of infiltrators.’
Paul nodded reluctantly. There was a long silence while he turned the prospects over in his mind.
‘Will you guide the group?’ demanded Roberts.
‘I have little choice in the matter,’ Paul said with a sigh. ‘I am of the Widerstand. And you will never find the site by yourselves.’
Roberts allowed himself a brief smile.
‘Thank you, doctor. The Allies … ’
‘I do not do this for the Allies,’ Paul said quickly. ‘I am doing it for Germany. That madman and his gang of criminal lunatics have to be stopped.’
‘I guess we won’t argue about that,’ grinned the American major.
‘Doctor, this is Major Stuart Bradley of the Office of Strategic Services,’ Roberts said. ‘He will be in command of the operation.’
The major gave Paul a friendly nod.
Roberts then turned to the British captain, a lean, fair-haired man, who gave an outward impression of bored indifference.
‘Captain John Wickham of the Special Operations Executive.’
The captain raised a hand and let it fall in a lazy gesture of acknowledgement.
‘The most important man in the party,’ went on Roberts, ‘will be Doctor Harris Kendall. It will be up to the other members of the group to ensure that Kendall gets to the site, because without him sabotage will be impossible.’
Kendall nodded and told the others, ‘I don’t relish the prospect of this little jaunt any more than the next man. However, as it happens, fate has decreed that you and I, doctor, are indispensable for this job: firstly, you, doctor, because you know the location and layout of the launch-site; secondly, myself because I am an expert in this field, and once I have seen the bomb-mechanism I can probably render it harmless.’
‘Although,’ the thought suddenly occurred to Paul, ‘if you disarm the bombs it would not take the project scientists too long to reconstruct them again.’
Kendall smiled. ‘Yes, that is so. The point is to delay any possibility of re-assembling the weapons long enough for our troops to overrun the site. The war is nearly over, a matter of weeks. The Nazis are running out of time.’
‘And you understand what von Knilling was on about, regarding the principles of these super-bombs? Can they really be made?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Kendall quietly. ‘They can be made. However, we thought that Germany had given up on the idea until you brought us this news.’
‘Given up? I don’t understand.’
‘You must know that your country has been in the forefront of nuclear research,’ Kendall said. ‘Fritz Strassmann and his partner Otto Hahn, discovered the principles of nuclear fission back in 1938. We learnt in April, 1940, that scientists at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute were conducting experiments in the splitting of the atom. The same year Rudolf Peierch and Otto Frisch succeeded in calculating the critical mass of Uranium 235 and working out the requirements for constructing a “super-bomb”.
‘I am letting out no secrets now when I tell you that the ideal moderator in the use of Uranium 235 is deuterium oxide, or heavy water. In February last year German scientists were moving a supply of heavy water from Norway for shipment to the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. We realized that they were near to perfecting the atomic bomb, the super bomb. The supply was destroyed by an Allied operation, and since deuterium oxide can be made only by a lengthy and laborious process of repeated extractions and purifications, we knew that time was not on the side of the German scientists. We fondly th
ought that the Nazis had given up their efforts to make the bomb.’
Paul pursed his lips. ‘So they found a new supply of heavy water?’
‘No.’ Kendall shook his head. ‘I judge from what von Knilling told you that they discovered another moderator. Probably graphite, which is a carbon-based mineral and which apparently works as well as heavy water … ‘
He shrugged eloquently.
‘But you will be able to render the bombs harmless? At least until the site has been overrun by the Allied advance?’
Kendall grimaced. ‘I think so … I hope so.’
Roberts was impatiently spreading a map of the area over a table. ‘You will have to attempt to get to the site as quickly as you can. Kendall has only some knowledge of German, but the rest of you are all fluent speakers. Therefore, we’ve decided that the best way of getting you to your destination is to put you in German uniforms and equip you with a half-track military vehicle.’
‘Uniforms and a vehicle are fine,’ interrupted Major Bradley, ‘but we will also want some pretty good documents if we are checked at roadblocks, which as we’re heading away from the front we undoubtedly shall be ‘
‘Don’t worry,’ replied Roberts, ‘the back-room boys are doing their utmost on this one. You’ll be Waffen-SS men on special attachment to Huebner’s Flying Tribunal, West.’
Paul frowned. ‘What the devil is that?’ he demanded.
Roberts smiled patiently. ‘I forget that the German public are not too well informed about what is happening. Field Marshal Keitel, presumably acting on Hitler’s orders, issued a directive that any soldier surrendering or trying to desert would be executed. The order also includes soldiers who are away from their units and claim to be stragglers looking for their units. In addition to Keitel’s orders, Himmler has added his own variation by stating that any officer who survives after failing to hold his positions against our advance is to be shot.’
The Doomsday Decree Page 18