by Joe Poyer
When Bethwig calmed down enough to lift the telephone to call for a doctor, the line was dead. The door to the corridor was locked, from the outside. An SS guard stood beneath the balcony, and when he looked over, the sentry raised his rifle and ordered him back inside. Unable to believe what was happening, Bethwig lowered himself into a chair beside the bed. Inge seemed to have been drugged. She tossed restlessly but was semi-conscious and totally incoherent.
After a while he wet a towel in the bathroom and began to bathe her carefully. The cool water had a soothing effect, and her restlessness ceased. In the dark hour before dawn she wakened screaming. Bethwig took her in his arms, whispering her name over and over until she calmed. Then he filled a glass with brandy and persuaded her to drink. Afterwards Inge lay back, movements stiff and slow, and as she told him what had happened he examined her body under the bed lamp until convinced that the damage was more painful than dangerous. None of the burns were deep except for the two SS brands, and those seemed to have been treated with an antiseptic.
From what he could make out from her childish narration, it seemed she had been ordered back to her room after he had left for his appointment with Heydrich that morning. Her story was not always coherent, and he had to interpret a lot that she did not understand. Assuming that he had left and that she would be reassigned, Inge had done as she was told. Instead, the matron had sent her to the basement. Though frightened, she had still expected nothing more than a beating. It was not the first time. There were so many rules and a guest’s single negative comment was considered reason enough for a whipping. But such punishments were limited to no more than ten strokes with a rubber hose administered by the matron. The hose left no marks and, while painful did no damage. The matron apparently enjoyed the punishments, and they were given liberally.
Only, this time the matron was not in the punishment room. Two men stripped her, then tied her hands to a hook in the ceiling and beat her with hoses. Between beatings they left her hanging from the hook. The day became a nightmare of electric shocks, cigarette burns, and more beatings. She was raped repeatedly and finally branded. They revived her especially for that.
Bethwig heard her out, not interrupting, knowing that she had to purge herself of the ordeal. Then she drifted back into a restless sleep, and he covered her gently with a sheet and stepped out on the balcony. Again the sentry shouted at him, and for an instant Bethwig’s sanity came near to snapping. A plaster urn filled with geraniums rested on the ledge, and without thinking, he swept it up and hurled it at the man. The pot burst on the steps, but the soldier had ducked inside. Bethwig shouted a curse after him and went back to the bedroom.
An hour later a doctor came for Inge. With him were a nurse and two orderlies. The doctor examined her, shook his head, and had the orderlies place her on a stretcher. The nurse stared at Franz, eyes blazing, and he knew then what the next step would be.
An SS officer appeared next. A standardtenführer who introduced himself as Edgar Ullman, he was accompanied by an enlisted clerk and two armed guards. Bethwig was ordered to sit beside the desk, and the officer opened his portfolio.
‘Herr Bethwig, it is my duty to inform you that charges of rape, assault, and battery have been lodged against you by one Inge Schuster, employed as a staff maid. She has charged that you forced her to commit unspeakable sexual acts, and that when she resisted, you beat and tortured her into submission. I myself have seen the results.’
The officer’s expression of contempt was so real that Bethwig decided he could not be a party to the charade.
‘Do you have anything to say in your defence?’ the officer asked. Bethwig remained silent, and after a moment the SS officer stood, in that case I must report that you refused to speak to me. I will remind you that Prague is under martial law and that you will therefore be tried by a military court-martial. The incident has come to the attention of the reichsprotektor, who has promised to review the details when he returns from the city this afternoon. He told me personally that if he must delay his departure for Paris he will do so.’
‘I would imagine so,’ Bethwig replied dryly, speaking for the first time since Inge had been taken away. ‘And where have they taken Inge?’
The officer’s stare was cold. ‘To a hospital, of course.’
Bethwig thought for a moment. ‘Colonel, I believe that you are doing what you think is correct. So do this for yourself, not for me. Check and see what hospital Inge was taken to. Then go and ask her who treated her like that.’
‘Are you saying you are not responsible?’
‘Just do as I suggest.’ Bethwig turned his back on them then, and a moment later the door slammed.
For the next four days Bethwig was held a virtual prisoner in the apartment. His door was locked from the outside, and his meals were brought by an elderly man who spoke no German. The guard below the balcony had been supplemented after the flowerpot incident, and he was not allowed outside. During the long hours he rationed his cigarettes, tried to read the few books he could find in German, French, or English, and stood at the window for what seemed ages worrying about Inge. He was safe enough, he decided. All he had to do was agree to Heydrich’s demands; and once he had done so, Heydrich would probably agree to release the girl, and perhaps even allow him to take her away from Prague.
But by Sunday he was beginning to wonder if he really did understand Heydrich’s game. He had heard nothing since the SS officer’s visit on Wednesday morning. Heydrich must have realised he had won by now. A hot bath did not help to settle his nerves, and Bethwig now stood before the bathroom mirror, first wiping the moisture clear and then studying his face. The constant state of uncertainty was starting to tell on him. He combed his hair and wandered into the living-room where he dragged the furniture against the walls and spent a rigorous half-hour doing calisthenics.
Late Sunday afternoon the door was thrown open and the SS colonel stalked in. He glared at the sentry who had tried to follow, and slammed the door in his face.
‘We do not have much time,’ Ullman muttered as he checked the other rooms in the suite.
‘Did you do as I suggested?’
‘Keep quiet and listen to what I tell you.’
‘What in the name of God are - ‘
‘I went to see the young lady,’ Ullman interrupted. ‘That is why I am here. It has taken this long to find her. She is being cared for at a nursing hospital in a small town nearby. Held in protective custody would be a more accurate description. She told me what happened.’ He stared at Bethwig a moment, his expression quizzical. ‘She is halfwitted, you know?’
Franz nodded. ‘Go on.’
The officer turned to the window and studied the grounds below, then glanced at his watch, it was rather difficult to understand her story, but I finally made sense of it.’
He turned again to face the room. ‘I do not know exactly what Herr Heydrich was trying to do to you, but I discovered that you have a distinguished background as a scientist. You are too valuable to the Reich to be wasted in petty political nonsense. If you do as I say, you may yet leave Prague alive.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Bethwig stared at him, not able to believe what the man was saying.
Ullman offered a cigarette and lit it for him. Bethwig drew the smoke deep into his lungs. Something was radically wrong, he realised. ‘This is unbelievable. Why would Heydrich want to harm me? He has gone to these ridiculous extremes to force me to accept a position which he is certain only I can fill. Why would he change his mind so suddenly?’
Colonel Ullman shook his head. ‘Then no one has told you?’
‘Told me what?’
‘On Wednesday morning, as Herr Heydrich was driving to his office in Prague, British agents shot at his car and threw a bomb. The chauffeur was killed and Herr Heydrich was severely wounded. He is in hospital now and not expected to live.’ Bethwig swore in astonishment.
‘Soon someone will come for you. You will be taken to the basement and shot. The story wil
l be that your aircraft was destroyed returning you to Peenemunde, or some other such foolishness.’
Bethwig sat down abruptly. ‘Shot... but why?’ he protested. Ullman shook his head. ‘I have no idea. Apparently the game you are playing - were playing, rather, with Heydrich had higher stakes than you were aware. In any event, with his death imminent his personal staff is scurrying about cleaning up any messes. You happen to be one of them.’
‘My God!’
‘It is not as bad as it sounds - yet. If Heydrich survives, you resume your game. If he dies, you die. It is as simple as that. But if you wish to leave Prague, you must do so now. I cannot promise that you will be left in peace afterwards, but at least your chances will be much better than waiting here for the execution chamber. The decision is yours.’
With a tremendous effort Bethwig pulled himself together. He went into the bedroom, and Ullman followed, ‘I assume you have some kind of plan?’ Bethwig asked as he began cramming clothes into his suitcase.
The colonel nodded. ‘Yes. We will simply walk out of the apartment and down the stairs to the main floor. My car is waiting at the door. I will drive you to the airfield, and if God is with us you should be home by midnight.’
‘Just like that? Won’t the guards have something to say?’
‘About what? There are no charges against you.’
‘What about rape, assault, and what was the other - extreme cruelty, or something like that?’ Bethwig growled.
‘All charges against you have been dropped. I saw to that before I came here. The orders were direct from Heydrich himself. Too bad he will never know about them.’
Bethwig straightened to study the officer. ‘Aren’t you taking one hell of a chance doing this for me?’
‘Only if Heydrich should recover, and that is not likely. Blood poisoning has set in. Now, no more talk. We must hurry.’
Bethwig shook his head. ‘There is one more consideration - Inge. She has to come with us.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Nothing is impossible.’
For a moment the irony of repeating Heydrich’s own words struck Bethwig as funny, and he almost laughed aloud.
‘This is.’ Ullman gripped his arm. ‘Listen to me. She is under guard. There is no way that I can get her out. If it is known that I even spoke with her, I will be in serious trouble and might find myself part of the clean-up. I can assure you that she is safe for now. She will be released from the hospital in three days’ time, then I can arrange for her to leave Prague. But until Heydrich is dead, it is impossible for me to do more.’
Bethwig hesitated, his mind a whirl of apprehension.
‘Make up your mind,’ Ullman snapped, if you are dead, you can do nothing for her. This way she still has a chance, and so do you.’
Bethwig’s face was a study in frustration as he nodded. When they left the apartment, Ullman walked behind and a sentry followed at his nod. The three flights of stairs and the ornate lobby seemed endless, but no one paid them the slightest attention. The chauffeur was stiff and correct as he held the door, and the colonel dismissed the sentry.
A curious silence seemed to have fallen over Prague. Military patrols were everywhere, and on some street corners groups of people huddled together under the hostile eyes of SS detachments. The car stopped at four separate checkpoints where their papers were meticulously examined.
‘The round-up has begun,’ Ullman observed. ‘Orders have come from Berlin to find the assassins at all costs. Examples are already being made. They say that the Führer broke down and cried like a child when the news was given to him. Heydrich was his favourite.’
Bethwig kept silent, troubled by the haunted eyes that had stared at their car as they stopped at an intersection for a convoy of military trucks. The people - men, women, and children - seemed to have been rounded up indiscriminately, and all were clearly frightened. If what had been done to Inge was merely a casual lesson to persuade him, they had every reason to be afraid.
‘And I thought the Czech people loved him so much,’ he observed bitterly after the car had started up again.
‘Who told you that?’
‘He did.’
The colonel’s laugh was bitter, it’s hard to love your hangman. That’s what they called him, you know.’
Colonel Ullman’s estimate was not far wrong. It was just after midnight when Bethwig raced from the Peenemunde airfield to von Braun’s quarters. He pounded on the door until he heard a sleepy muttering on the other side.
‘Damn it, Wernher, open the door!’
‘Franz? Just a moment.’
The door opened and von Braun waved him in. ‘Damn it, Franz, couldn’t you have waited until morning to tell about the fleshpots of Prague?’ He shuffled back into the room, turning on the light and sorting through the jumble of papers on his desk for a cigarette.
Bethwig kicked the door closed. ‘Shut up and sit down. This is serious.’
‘What the devil are you ...?’
‘British agents shot Heydrich on Wednesday morning. He is not expected to live.’
Von Braun gaped at him. ‘Shot... Heydrich?’ He swallowed. The packet of cigarettes found, Bethwig then waited while he lit one, allowing him time to absorb the shock.
‘There was nothing about it on the wireless ... or in the papers...’
‘Of course not. And there won’t be until he dies.’
‘He isn’t dead yet?’ Von Braun’s voice was hopeful.
‘He is dying,’ Bethwig said harshly. ‘Blood poisoning. And good riddance as well.’
‘What are you saying, Franz? Without him, how can we continue the A-Ten?’
‘Damned good question. First you had better hear what happened to me. Then you might not be so saddened by our dear patron’s imminent departure for hell.’ Bethwig told him the entire story, leaving nothing out except the details of Inge’s mental history.
Von Braun listened with a growing amazement that quickly turned to grim anger. When Bethwig finished, he stubbed out his cigarette with a vicious twisting motion.
‘It’s damned good riddance then, as you said,’ he snarled. ‘Until things clarify themselves, I suppose we had better continue as we have. Try to get as much done as possible in case we have to persuade someone else to support us.’
Bethwig nodded. ‘That’s my feeling as well. As for finding someone else to back us, we’re still not out of the woods as far as the SS is concerned.’
‘Perhaps not,’ von Braun replied, his voice thoughtful. ‘But perhaps it is possible that we have enough results now to persuade the Army General Staff to back us, particularly if we let it slip that the SS, in the person of the soon-to-be-martyred Reinhard Heydrich, was behind it. That would scare the hell out of them.’
‘It might also get us shot by our own employers,’ Bethwig snorted.
Three weeks later two SS officers accompanied by the Gestapo officer Walsch arrived at Peenemunde to arrest von Braun. Walsch politely introduced himself and reminded von Braun that they had met several years before in Berlin, in the office of Colonel Dornberger. He smiled when von Braun recalled the circumstances, and they flew to Berlin that afternoon, in spite of Dornberger’s strenuous protests. The aircraft took off even as Dornberger was trying to get through to Gestapo headquarters.
Bethwig telephoned his father that evening to ask him to use his influence to fix an appointment with Reichsführer Himmler, reasoning that the order for the arrest of Wernher von Braun, an army employee, by the SD could only have come from his office. His father agreed to help, but it was three days before the meeting could be arranged. Dornberger threw up his hands in despair when he heard what Bethwig had done.
‘For God’s sake, Franz, now there will be two of you to get out of prison, or worse.’
Added to his worry about von Braun was the lack of any communication from Colonel Ullman. Twice he had tried to phone through, only to be told that lines were unavailable. And there was little news of any kind fr
om the protectorate. God only knew what havoc the SD were causing there.
The following day Bethwig, taking a roundabout route through Hamburg, drove to Berlin to consult with his father.
‘Hah! British agents indeed,’ his father had exploded in anger. ‘Mark my words, young man, the deed was done and Heydrich murdered at the express order of that weak-chinned jealous little sadist Himmler.’ Bethwig had told him what he knew of the happenings in Prague.
‘Jumped-up chicken farmer!’ his father muttered, pacing about his cluttered office. The swastika armband he was never without seemed somewhat shabby on the sleeve of his suit jacket, Bethwig observed. As shabby as the party’s morals and mission were becoming. What happened to them? he wondered. It had all changed in such a short time. The war was to have tempered the movement; instead it seemed to be destroying it.
‘I do not understand why we must put up with such men as these. Even Goering has become a good-for-nothing drug addict. Such nonsense brings trouble in the end. Gangsters, that’s what they are. Nothing but gangsters.’
He spun and pointed a blunt finger at his son. ‘Do not let that little toad intimidate you. He is not quite as secure as he thinks. The Führer said to me not more than a week ago that perhaps it was time for the party to clean house again, and I heartily agreed. You know how he works; first the suggestions to high party members to test their opinion, then intensive planning and decisive action - swift, merciless action. That was the way it was when we got rid of Roehm. I suspect that this time he has people like Himmler and perhaps this Goebbels in mind. Never did like that little cripple. Too shrill.’ The old man sighed then. ‘Well, Franz, if you have told me everything, I doubt if you have anything to worry about. There seems to be nothing that monster can hold over your head. Be firm and remember your position and your strengths. We are Bethwigs and we are German. And the Führer knows who his supporters are.’
You would never think there was a war, Bethwig mused as he drove along the Charlottenstrasse past the well-dressed crowds. An amazing number of soldiers filled the streets, eyeing equally large numbers of girls clad in summer frocks. The mood was certainly not what one would have expected in the capital of a great nation at war. There were few signs of bomb damage visible, but air-raid shelters were conspicuously marked. Shop windows, although taped, were as full of goods as ever; and with war production in full swing, people had plenty of money to spend. Hitler’s promises were coming true, Bethwig thought, even though, by virtue of his father’s position and wealth, he tended at times to look upon the Austrian as a fool and a buffoon. Yet one had to admit that he had drawn the German people so solidly together after the disillusionment of the 1920s that the country was totally unified, and willing and able to meet the final Allied offensive against it. This time it will be different, he thought in a sudden burst of grim determination.