Vengeance 10

by Joe Poyer

  ‘What do you intend to do now?’

  Bethwig shrugged. ‘What in hell can I do but continue on as before? Himmler had never any intention of letting me come to trial. He would need a better charge than interference with an official in the performance of his duty. In theory, I outrank that bastard hauptschauführer and could charge him with disobedience to, and striking, a superior officer. He could be shot for that. You put Hanna up to trying to talk me into behaving, so you have an idea what this is all about. Himmler was only taking advantage of that fool’s mistake to provide me with a warning.’ Bethwig fell silent then, considering what would happen should he disobey Himmler once more. He had no doubt that Inge would be the one to suffer, and horribly.

  He stood up; the damned trams were never on time and his protest was being spoiled. It was five kilometres or more to his quarters, but he was determined to walk the entire distance rather than ride with Himmler. He was damned if he would provide him another victory. Dornberger watched him shuffle towards the road, then angry as much at himself as at Bethwig, he hurried to catch up.

  Himmler stared after them for a moment, considering, then signalled the driver to go on.

  Three weeks later the Reichsführer appeared unannounced at Peenemunde. Bethwig swore as his secretary told him that there was to be a meeting that afternoon at two o’clock. But at one-thirty the door to his office was thrown open and Himmler strode in. He greeted Bethwig, motioned his aide out, and pulled a side chair around to face him, smiling pleasantly all the while.

  ‘My dear Franz, how good to see you again.’ He chuckled with ill-concealed irony and shifted in the chair until he was comfortable. ‘You will no doubt have heard that the investigation I instigated concerning your arrest has cleared you completely. Those responsible have been disciplined, so there’s an end to it. I know you will not hold it against me, or the SS; any organisation as large as mine has a few misfits who find it difficult to exercise good judgement.’

  Himmler smiled again and removed his cap. His nearly bald head and rimless spectacles only served to increase his resemblance to a toad.

  ‘I have been quite pleased with your work over the past few weeks. I felt that given time you would work out your own problems.’ He glanced expectantly at Bethwig who continued to stare at him.

  Himmler shrugged. ‘I see there is still some animosity on your part. Again, I can do nothing more than apologise for - ‘

  ‘What have you done with Inge?’

  Himmler blinked at him. ‘Inge?’

  ‘There is no need to play games, Reichsführer. You know to whom I am referring.’

  Himmler sat back and regarded Bethwig. ‘You are an outspoken young man. A dangerous tendency these days. Very dangerous.’

  Bethwig remained silent, and Himmler nodded. ‘Also a courageous young man. I like that. The matter of your concern for the girl was brought to my attention by a mutual friend, and I must admit that with the press of work lately I had quite forgotten about her. Fortunately I have an excellent staff who more than make up for this tendency of mine to forget the human side in the greater concern for the war effort. You will be pleased to know that my staff has seen that nothing has been spared in her continuing treatment. When your concern was brought to my attention, I was informed that she had been removed from the Prague hospital to a more modern treatment facility in Germany. She is now in a country atmosphere with the most modern facilities to hand. She certainly does not lack for attention, and her activities are supervised day and night. I am told she is making excellent progress and has proved most popular with the staff. Recreational activities are considered most important, and there are frequent impromptu entertainments at which the young lady is considered a star performer. I assure you, you need have no worries concerning her well-being. When I enquired as to when she could be released, the director assured me it would be soon, perhaps within a few months. Her progress is that good.’

  Himmler smiled and sat back, noting the evident relief that swept across Bethwig’s face. He nearly thanked the Reichsführer but caught himself in time. ‘However, I did not travel here today to discuss your personal life. You will be appointed director of the A-Ten project today. Herr Doktor von Braun has agreed to assume complete control of the A-Four project, and General Dornberger will assume overall administrative control of the entire research centre.’

  Bethwig started to protest, then, realising how useless it would be, shut his mouth. Himmler nodded, pleased.

  ‘I fear that among these pleasant announcements there is one that will not be so well received. It is necessary that the A-Ten project be redirected. The moon will no longer be your target. That phase has been cancelled.’

  Bethwig stared, as if not quite believing what he had heard. He shook his head. ‘Cancel the A-Ten ...?’

  Himmler nodded, his pince-nez flashing in the autumn sunshine pouring through the windows. ‘I am afraid so.’

  ‘But why, in the name of God? The project is Germany’s best hope for winning - ‘

  Himmler cut him off. ‘Normally I do not condescend to explain my actions,’ he snapped. ‘But as you have worked so hard, you do perhaps deserve that much. You are aware, no doubt, that heavy water is a vital ingredient of our atomic research programme?’ Without waiting for an answer, Himmler went on:

  ‘We obtain our supplies from the Norsk Hydroelectric Plant in Norway, or did until recently. This past spring Allied and Norwegian saboteurs succeeded in destroying the Rjukan facility. As a consequence, the Führer has, and quite rightly, removed all priority from atomic research. Therefore, even if your moon rocket were ready in time, it would be weaponless. No need, therefore, to continue with the monstrous expense the project entails.’

  Bethwig was speechless; the last thing in the world he had expected was cancellation of the Lunar phase of the project. Himmler spread his hands. ‘I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do. The Führer himself has given the order.’

  ‘But. . . but... the project, the lunar base does not need the atomic bomb to be successful.’ Bethwig tried to protest. ‘I explained that in the beginning. Any high explosive will have its destructive force magnified by the - ‘

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Himmler waved a hand. ‘A rock, a plain ordinary rock, would also have a great destructive force because of the speed with which it strikes the earth. I understand all that. However, my staff have conducted extensive economic studies and have concluded that the money would be better spent on a less cumbersome and cheaper system. Now, you recall I said only that the moon landing phase of the project has been curtailed. For one thing, your time estimates are far, far too optimistic. The war will have been won by the time your first rocket lands on the moon. However, if the project is returned to its original objective - that of launching massive quantities of high explosive against the eastern coast of the United States - the A-Ten rocket can, according to revised projections by my staff, be made ready by late 1944 or early 1945. The atomic bomb will not be needed, as thirty thousand kilograms of high explosive, which I am assured can be placed aboard these large rockets, will do the job, particularly when they strike in large numbers. American commitment to European wars has never been strong, and in any event, the moral fibre of the American nation is far too weak to withstand such a sustained bombing attack. In the meantime Professor von Braun’s A-Four rocket will be devastating England.’

  ‘But there is no sense, no reason, to cancel the lunar base phase. We are on schedule. In fact, we will test the fourth in the series, the final rocket, in two months. It will be launched into an orbit around the earth with ...’

  Himmler stood up, all traces of good humour now gone. ‘I have given you an order, Herr Doktor Bethwig. You will be good enough to carry it out.’ He picked up his cap and headed for the door.

  ‘We will talk further of the changes to be made in both the A-Ten and A-Four projects at this afternoon’s conference. I wanted you to be aware of the direction of my thinking so that you could prepar
e yourself accordingly.

  ‘I believe, sir, you owe me your utmost loyalty. I have quashed very serious charges against you, and against Doktor von Braun at your request. And at great personal expense I have taken it upon myself to see that this half-witted woman of whom you are so fond has been given the best possible care. Accordingly, I will tolerate no further outbursts or disagreements over my orders. Do I make myself entirely clear?’

  Bethwig, still reeling from the casual announcement of the cancellation of the moon landing, could only nod. Himmler gave him a final stare and, without another word, left the office.

  London October 1943

  It has the feel of the last day of Indian summer, Jan Memling thought as he crossed Bayswater Road and sought, among the maze of streets north of Hyde Park, the address he had been given by Brigadier Simon-Benet the afternoon before. The sun burned down with unexpected heat, and a lazy stillness hung over the city. Traffic noises seemed distant, and here and there he could hear children laughing as they played. He was sweating in his wool uniform and feeling quite light-headed before he found the correct address in Norfolk Crescent.

  From the outside it seemed like any other Victorian town house. The bombing had not devastated the West End as it had other parts of the city, and the area retained the feeling of ‘pre-war England’ which the papers were beginning to write about as if it had been a distant and shining time rather than the tail end of a worldwide depression.

  He rang the bell, and the elderly porter who opened the door nodded him inside where a heavily armed Royal Marine sat in shadow. An officer stepped out of an anteroom to check his credentials and compare his name and photograph with those on his list. When the officer was satisfied, the porter conducted him along the hall and opened the door to the library.

  Six men sat around a polished table spread with maps and photographs. Simon-Benet jumped up when he spotted Memling, and came forward with a smile. ‘Gentlemen, this is the young officer I was telling you about.’

  He introduced Memling to the men sitting at the table. He recognised only two of them: Viscount Cherwell, the Prime Minister’s scientific adviser, and Duncan Sandys, Churchill’s son- in-law and head of the new committee charged with the investigation of German rocket development under the code name Operation Crossbow.

  Sandys smiled and stood to shake his hand. ‘Congratulations on your promotion, Major. I am certain you earned it. Brigadier Simon-Benet has told me of your latest adventure. An amazing piece of work. Gentlemen’ - he turned to the others at the table - ‘in case you are not aware, Major Memling has just returned from a sojourn in Germany.’

  One or two eyebrows went up at that, and Sandys added, ‘From Peenemunde, to be exact, where he actually worked for two weeks before escaping to Sweden.’

  There were mild exclamations of surprise.

  ‘Since his return,’ Sandys continued, ‘unfortunately too late to advise Bomber Command on the selection of targets, Major Memling has been reviewing the after-raid photographs. I have asked him here today to comment on his conclusions in light of his recent visit, and to describe to us what he learned at Peenemunde.’

  ‘I am certain,’ Simon-Benet suggested in a dry voice that told Memling all he needed to know about the tensions around the table, ‘that when the major has finished, we will have a few surprises to deal with.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Cherwell murmured, and nodded towards Memling. ‘Perhaps the major would begin?’

  Memling spoke for an hour, describing in detail the design and number of rocket engines produced on a monthly basis, noting that the figures were still on a pre-production basis; the type of testing to which they were subjected; and their specifications, including materials. He also described the launching he had observed and the engine test firing.

  Memling hesitated before continuing. He and Simon-Benet had discussed the advisability of mentioning the new rocket project he had uncovered. The brigadier was insistent that he do so; but Memling was reluctant, recalling the reaction given his earlier reports. With a glance at the brigadier, who encouraged him with a smile, he related his conversations with Ernst Mundt and presented his estimate of the size and capabilities of the new rocket. Memling could see by the pained expression that passed across Viscount Cherwell’s face that his report was being received much as he had expected. When he suggested that such a rocket might have a transatlantic range, it was only Simon-Benet’s stern glance that prevented an interruption.

  When he finished, Simon-Benet did not allow the briefest lapse and immediately launched into a description of Memling’s escape. The brigadier had somehow got hold of his after-action report to 2 Commando, to which he was still officially attached, and narrated in detail all the events, including his killing of the four SD men. There was polite applause and smiles from the military men present, while the civilians looked a bit uncomfortable.

  A slim, quiet man in elegantly tailored clothes asked to direct a question to Memling, and Sandys nodded agreement.

  ‘This new rocket you speak of sounds quite an advance over the smaller one the Germans refer to as A-Four. I would assume it would require a great deal more in the way of support services, such as increased launching areas. Those used for the A-Four are readily detectable, now that we know what to look for. Why is it, then, that we have not spotted such an area for - I believe you called it the A-Ten?’

  Memling took a deep breath. He had expected this question. ‘Such a launching site does exist. I found indications of it in earlier photographs. The site is in the central southern portion of Usedom, well away from the Luftwaffe or A-Four launch sites. It occupies an area normally referred to on our maps as marshland. Few photos have been taken of this area, as overflight time is necessarily limited, and the concentration has been on known launching sites and test facilities on the northern and Baltic coastal sections of the island. The Germans are, as we all know, masters of camouflage, and the wide marshy area is easy to disguise. We have asked that the next recon flight include this area.’

  The man studied him for a moment, then nodded, clearly unconvinced, and Memling felt a flash of anger at the man’s dismissal of the information simply because it did not fit his pre-conceived theories. Sandys started to ask his assessment of the bomb damage, but Viscount Cherwell interrupted with a question.

  ‘Major, correct me if I am in error, but are you not the one who first reported the work in Germany on large rocket engines, in, I believe, 1938?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And again in 1940, as the result of another daring mission behind enemy lines, this time in Belgium, I believe. At that time you supplied an estimate of the capability of rocket engines seen in, I seem to recall, Liege, was it not?’

  Memling nodded, glancing quickly to Simon-Benet who was scowling down the table at Viscount Cherwell.

  ‘Major, you and I have debated the status of the Nazi rocket programme before, and you are well acquainted with my opinion that Germany cannot spare the economic resources for a research and development programme of such magnitude. Now I freely admit’ - he smiled in condescension - ‘that my opinion may be coloured by my own prejudices in this matter, and I would ask you to stop and consider whether, in view of the amazing series of coincidences by which you have ferreted out what you believe to be the secret of enemy rocket research, your own opinion and conclusions are not coloured by your personal prejudices as well?’

  ‘I say!’ the brigadier exploded, but Memling’s calm answer stopped his further objections.

  ‘You may be right, Viscount Cherwell. And in your position I would be inclined to ask the same question. Since you first raised your objections nearly a year ago I have given it a great deal of thought. As you may recall, I described in a formal paper how sufficient alcohol could be produced for fuel, and I believe my estimates have since been verified by independent intelligence means.’

  ‘Not to my satisfaction, ‘I’m afraid,’ Viscount Cherwell interrupted.

  Memling
ignored the comment and continued: ‘What you say about limited resources and their distribution among various war-effort goals is quite correct. My only objection to your conclusions is that they presuppose a logical and efficient effort directed towards planning. If that were the case, I am certain the rocket, at least at this stage of development, would not be seen as economically feasible.’

  He could see that Cherwell was taken aback by his answer, and pressed on: ‘I have spent nearly a year’s time in German-controlled territory, and during that time I never once saw a single bit of evidence to suggest that efficient and effective planning had taken, or was taking, place. Rather I saw the exact opposite. Foreign workers in most industries are treated little better than slaves. The Peenemunde organisation is the single exception, and I would suggest even that will change as the SS becomes more deeply involved. I could begin to detect the same fear there that I found in Belgium ... and believe me,’ Memling blurted in a rare moment of candour, ‘I am an expert on fear. Ernst Mundt was an exception, and I hate to think what has happened to him because of me. As additional support for my theory that planning is neither logical nor efficient in the Third Reich, consider the fact that Jews are persecuted in Germany despite the fact that the Jewish population formed the single largest pool of industrial and scientific talent Germany possessed. Instead of being allowed to play a part in the war effort, they have become ruthlessly exploited slave labourers confined to concentration camps. That suggests a system groping through a tangle of political and ideological nonsense.’