Vengeance 10

by Joe Poyer

  ‘See, just as he said.’

  The sturmmann shook his head. ‘Probably forgeries. ‘I’m cold, damn it. ‘I’m going to shoot him now, and then we are going back ...’

  Clement shook his head, if these papers are correct, we will hang. If not, we can shoot him later.’ He turned to Bethwig. ‘Where is this assembly point? Will there be anyone there to identify you?’

  Bethwig nodded. ‘Of course. In the village of Vreden.’

  The sturmmann muttered to himself, but Clement shoved Bethwig around. ‘Get started.’ Bethwig suppressed a snort of satisfaction and began to retrace his steps in the fading light. Apparently the sturmmann, although superior in rank, was deficient in brains.

  It took them almost thirty minutes to find the clearing, and when they pushed cautiously into the deserted area, they found the remains of the launching site still burning. Bethwig trudged on across the trampled field towards the distant village of Vreden without waiting for them.

  Bethwig had spent the previous month living a gypsy-like existence, moving from one raw launch crew to another in support of the offensive in the Ardennes. Peenemunde had been stripped of experienced personnel to direct the barrage of rockets launched against Antwerp, Brussels and London in an effort to disrupt Allied supply lines and kill reserve troops and headquarters units. For two weeks they had operated in the comparative safety of bad weather, but a few days after Christmas the weather had begun to clear, and they were being hunted again.

  He had slogged from one frozen, wind-blasted forest clearing to another, following the same exhausting drill. The crews were all ill-trained, some lacking any idea of what they were about. He had only a few key veterans to assist him, and the spate of air attacks had killed the last of them two days before, leaving him with the sole responsibility for moving the train of vehicles from one location to another, checking the rockets, seeing that the necessary repairs were made - often doing them himself - then supervising the erection and launch procedures. Even so, with certain shortcuts he had managed to whittle down the time between launches to less than six hours. He could have improved on that, he knew, but the quartermaster corps seemed to have given up on the war, and as a result, his men were constantly hungry, cold, and exhausted. Then there were conflicting orders from Berlin and Kammler’s headquarters, all of which were interpreted by a succession of arrogant SS officers whose loyalties to Germany rarely seemed to coincide with their loyalties to obscure superiors who had other objectives in mind.

  Now he sat on his bunk in the unheated caravan housing the launching and tracking equipment and stared stupidly at the piece of paper shoved at him by an orderly who had just wakened him from the first bit of sleep he had had in more than two days. It took several moments for the message to make sense.

  He was to return immediately to Peenemunde. Nothing more. The order was signed by Kammler. Bethwig stepped to the door and pulled the curtain aside. Bright sunlight forced him to squint as he looked across the Dutch barnyard towards the amazingly flat fields beyond. He knew they were somewhere west of the River Ems, but had not had the strength to ascertain exactly where when they had arrived shortly before dawn. Wherever it was, they were nearing the absolute limit for V-2 operations against England. It must be true, then, he thought. The Ardennes offensive had failed. If so, troops would soon be falling back into Germany and the effectiveness of the V-2s would suffer accordingly.

  He packed his few belongings and went over to the mess tent for a hurried breakfast of coffee - burned toast steeped in boiling water - hard bread, and ersatz jam. He showed the orders to the SS officer commanding the unit. The man was the fourth in as many weeks, and Bethwig had not even bothered to learn his name. The officer stared with glazed eyes at the yellow sheet of paper, then nodded. Franz went out and hitched a ride with a lorry heading east towards the Ems. Less than a kilometre along the road a Spitfire flashed towards them, waggled its wings in derision, and a few moments later they heard the explosions begin.

  ‘Herr Doktor, the Führer has granted the A-Ten operational status as a retaliation weapon. It is to be known as Vengeance Ten, and you are to see that its deployment is accelerated!’ Bethwig shook his head. ‘General Kammler, it is impossible.’

  ‘Nothing is impossible to a member of the German ...’

  Bethwig laughed. ‘General, do not waste my time with party slogans. I was a veteran party member while you were still at university. Slogans no longer impress me and do you know why? Because people like you have destroyed the party and, in the process, destroyed Germany.’

  Kammler thrust his head forward and glared at Bethwig. ‘Defeatist talk! For that you could be shot!’

  ‘And then you would lose all hope of deploying the V-Ten, wouldn’t you?’ Bethwig shot back. He opened the box of cigarettes on the general’s desk, took one, and glanced at the name printed on the paper.

  ‘These are American.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ Kammler sneered. ‘They were taken from a convoy of American supplies a few weeks ago.’

  Bethwig smiled. ‘That is my point, General. You, safe, warm and well fed in a rear area, have good American cigarettes, while the frontline soldier dies on the battlefield, with dried leaves for tobacco.’

  Kammler’s face flushed, and he started to retort, but Bethwig, weary of arguing, held up a hand. ‘General, I did not say that I would not, I merely said that it was impossible to ready the V-Ten batteries in the time you expect. I am not averse to trying; I merely wish it to be understood that I do not expect to succeed. There is no longer a possibility of establishing four batteries by May thirtieth. My preliminary studies indicate that they will not be ready until September even if the priorities you claim could produce the raw materials. And a miracle would be needed, even for that late date. With the loss of the Dutch industrial areas, we cannot even produce sufficient liquid oxygen to fuel the existing four battalions of V-Twos, let alone four more of V-Tens. And you know as well as I how meaningless priorities now are. Where are the two railway locomotives I requested months ago? They are heading to the east, pulling wagons loaded with Jews. Why do these people, enemies of the German Reich, take precedence over the survival of Germany?’

  Kammler turned to the window, his expression hardening. ‘I do not know. And I do not concern myself with matters that are not my responsibility. You would be well advised to follow a similar policy.’

  ‘Sound advice, General. And very necessary in our Germany today. However, please remember, it was you people in the SS who created the Germany in which such practices are accepted.’

  Bethwig stared at Kammler who returned his look without flinching. Finally, Bethwig shrugged.

  ‘Perhaps I can furnish that miracle, General Kammler.’ When he was certain he had the general’s attention, Franz went on. ‘Three V-Tens were near completion when you sent me to Belgium. I told you then that given another month I could have had them ready for launching. If you had left me alone, perhaps now your batteries of transatlantic missiles might be nearing readiness.’

  Kammler remained silent. His stare would have disconcerted anyone but Bethwig, who now had little to lose.

  ‘I can have one ready by the end of January, the remaining two by mid-February. The pilots have been selected, and fortunately their training has not been interrupted. While I no longer believe that America can be forced from the war unilaterally by a few rockets landing on her soil, I do believe that two or three such, with the promise of more to come, might send them to the negotiating table, dragging their British and French allies along. If an armistice can be achieved, Germany could turn its attention solely to the east and the defeat of Russia. An old tune, General, but it is Germany’s last hope, and the only reason I comply with your demands.’

  Kammler’s silence indicated that he accepted this rationale, and without a further word, Bethwig left the office. This is the last opportunity we will have, he thought bitterly, and we’ll damn well make the most of it. The old dream was fa
r from dead.

  Peenemunde January 1945

  On New Year’s Day Bethwig knocked on the door of the test office in the air tunnel laboratory. A moment later a technician clad in a fireproof asbestos suit opened the door and handed Bethwig a similar suit to pull on over his working clothes. The suit was hot, smelly, and heavy. Muttering to himself, he followed the technician across the room to a steel door and waited while he fiddled with the lock, swung it open, and motioned him through. Bethwig ducked and wriggled past the heater cells behind the stationary wind-tunnel vanes. Three other men waited for him, none of them in protective clothing, and he removed his helmet.

  ‘Keep the suit on, Franz,’ Wernher von Braun told him. ‘This won’t take long.’

  Bethwig nodded. He had worn the suit only to persuade the Gestapo guard who followed him everywhere to remain outside. ‘All right, Wernher. What’s going on?’

  Von Braun glanced at the other two men - his brother, Magnus, and Ernst Mundt. ‘I’ll come right to the point, Franz. We’ve had a meeting with the department heads still at Peenemunde as well as those we could reach at Nordhausen. It is clear that the war is lost, and it remains only for the Allies to occupy Germany. Even your V-Ten will not delay that for long.’ He looked anxiously at Bethwig who nodded.

  ‘I agree.’

  Von Braun looked relieved, and the other two exchanged puzzled glances. ‘We know that Kammler has orders to begin planning an evacuation. Rumours from the most reliable sources say that the facility is to be completely destroyed. No trace is to be left of the work being done here. I suppose those fools in Berlin believe it possible. There is another rumour to the effect that Himmler has ordered the SS to shoot all scientific and technical personnel. While I don’t quite believe it, I do not dismiss it either. We have all seen how the POWs have been treated since the SS took over, and I can tell you that Peenemunde is paradise compared to conditions at Nordhausen.’

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘I must also tell you this, Franz. Most of the other department heads were against bringing you into our plans. Many of them feel your loyalties are to Himmler and that you cannot be trusted.’

  Bethwig remained silent, and von Braun struggled on. ‘You know what I think about such nonsense but...’

  Bethwig nodded. ‘I understand.’ He paused a moment. ‘I doubt there is anything I can say to convince them otherwise.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose you could shoot me. That seems to be a common solution to problems these days. Otherwise, you will have to put up with me.’

  The three men exchanged looks, and von Braun muttered, ‘I think there is no question of that.’

  Magnus broke the uncomfortable silence. ‘Franz, we have all decided to arm ourselves, just in case this rumour about executing all scientists and technicians should be true. When the Luftwaffe left last fall, they abandoned a great deal of equipment. Several cases of automatic rifles, ammunition and hand grenades have been located and shifted elsewhere, in case they are needed. In addition, the decision has been taken, unanimously, to surrender to the Americans or British. Under no circumstances will we allow ourselves to be captured by the Russians.’

  ‘I should think the English are to be avoided at all costs,’ Bethwig replied dryly. ‘Surely they would not lavish much love on people who helped destroy their capital city with long-range rockets.’

  ‘No more so than our bomber crews, yet by all reports they are treated as well as, if not better than, English airmen in our prisons.’ Magnus hesitated, then at a nod from his brother he continued. ‘We have reason to believe that the British would welcome us if we surrendered to them.’

  ‘Reason to believe? Nothing more than that?’

  Magnus shook his head. ‘No. Nothing more than that. Nor would I say more if I could, except that we have also been approached by the Russians.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Your agreement,’ Wernher told him, after a moment of consideration in which the strain was evident in his expression. ‘Your staff will follow you. Until now, we dared not approach any of them because of the disagreement over ...’ He hesitated, and Bethwig nodded.

  ‘I understand. When is the evacuation to take place?’

  ‘We don’t know. As I said, most of what we have learned is rumour. But everything points to the end of January. The Russians are well into East Prussia, and it is almost certain that they will make a concerted effort to take Peenemunde before it can be destroyed. The best guess is they will reach here no earlier than mid-February, if their present rate of advance continues.’

  ‘There is the V-Ten to launch. I cannot go until that is completed.’

  Von Braun’s expression was full of sympathy as was Mundt’s; they both shared his dream, but Magnus broke in with an exclamation. ‘How can you think of the V-Ten now, Franz? It can do nothing to help the war effort. The Russians will have arrived even before the second rocket can be launched. To attempt to do so would jeopardise us all and contribute nothing to a war that is already lost...’

  Bethwig’s voice was calm when he spoke, but von Braun and Mundt understood his determination. ‘The V-Ten, Magnus, is no longer a war weapon. And I am no longer concerned with the war effort, nor have I been since my father was murdered. People like Himmler and Kammler have betrayed the Führer and Germany with their greed. Prolonging the war only serves their purposes. I am concerned only with launching the V-Ten. I have given it seven years of my life, and now I have nothing else to live for.’

  His expression was still calm as he gauged their reaction. ‘The rocket will not be launched against the United States. Wernher, do you remember what we resolved on that evening on the Greifswalder beach, before the war began? Then again last fall when you tried to talk me into this one final time?’

  Von Braun stared at him. ‘Franz, the moon? Are you crazy?’

  ‘Am I? It can be done, Wernher. Kammler would not know the difference - until too late. The requirements are virtually the same but for the fuel load.’

  The three men stared at him in shock; finally, Magnus broke the silence. ‘Franz, it would be suicide-even if successful, how would the pilot get back? Who would fly it under those circumstances?’

  ‘I have two volunteers even now. Both understand clearly what the outcome will be. There is no need to be concerned. Both are party members, both fanatics, and they will die gladly for the greater glory of the Reich.’

  Ernst Mundt and Magnus von Braun exchanged dubious glances, but Wernher was grinning broadly as he clapped Bethwig on the shoulder.

  ‘You can depend on us,’ he cried, thus confirming Bethwig in the decision he had made privately the week before in Kammler’s office.

  Von Braun followed Bethwig up the scaffolding to a narrow platform some seventy metres above the launch stand. To the west they could see across the island to the snow-covered fields on the mainland where farms and forests were etched diamond-sharp in the clear January air. To the south the pines almost hid the buildings that housed the laboratories and administrative offices and, beyond them, the staff living quarters. Lost in the distance was the prison camp, most of its buildings deserted. The prisoners had been shipped to the underground factories of Nordhausen deep in the Harz Mountains where, under the direction of the SS, the V-2s continued to pour off the assembly lines for shipment to western Germany and the shrinking areas of occupied Holland.

  To their left the cobalt-blue reaches of the Baltic stretched north to Sweden and Finland. Only a few naval patrols dared move on the Baltic now. Most of the merchant ships that had survived the Russian and British submarine onslaught were busily engaged in the forbidden evacuation of German troops from East Prussia and northern Poland.

  ‘We will be ready before the end of January.’ Bethwig broke the silence. ‘Unless something completely unexpected develops, there is nothing of a technical nature to stop us.’

  They had ridden the elevator to the top of the gantry and climbed the rickety scaffolding to the pilot’s cab
in in the third stage of the rocket. There had not been time to extend the gantries, or the material to do so, and the makeshift platform teetered dizzily in the wind.

  Von Braun gave him a worried glance, then, grasping the hand bar bolted above the hatchway, lifted himself, inserted his feet, and slid in. He settled down, released the gimbal brake, and the couch swung freely to assume a horizontal position.

  ‘My God,’ he exclaimed, ‘this chair is comfortable. If everything wasn’t going to hell, I’d have one made up for my study.’ Von Braun rocked the couch a moment, then reached up and began to finger switches and tap dials, making certain the needles moved freely against their stops.

  ‘You’ve designed well, Franz. Nothing more than twenty centimetres away from the hand.’ He tapped another dial, then remarked off-handedly, ‘I was going over the flight plan last night and noticed you increased the initial G forces to six. Do you think that’s wise? Won’t it be too exhausting?’

  Bethwig shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. We need that increased speed to eliminate the need to carry so much fuel into orbit around the Earth. I would rather expend it going up than reduce our manoeuvrability on landing. Anyway, I have spent several sessions in the centrifugal chamber at higher G rates myself. The increased gravity does exhaust one quickly, but I have been able to function in an acceptable manner well in excess of the time required.’

  Von Braun turned on the couch to face him. Since the death of the elder Bethwig, von Braun was not certain he knew Franz any more. He had hardened to the point of abrasiveness. Every moment of his life now seemed to centre on the damned rocket. The risks he took with Kammler and the Gestapo security staff were appalling; it was as if he were challenging them to discover what he was up to. He also knew that Bethwig had taken to carrying a Mauser pistol, and von Braun had no doubt that he would use it if pressed.