Vengeance 10 (18 page)

The flat was empty when he unlocked the door and entered. Janet had left a note stating that a billet had become available at the officers’ club but inviting him to stay on if he wished. When he looked into the bedroom he found his clothing was gone. Another note told him that it had been sent out for cleaning, and gave the address where he could call for it the following afternoon. The notes provided a sense of contact that surprised him. They, like the author, had a certain vivacity that had become almost foreign to Memling. A third note, slipped into the frame of the bathroom mirror, told him that she did not expect to return until after eight o’clock again, but that she would then cook him the meal that he had missed the previous evening. The proposition startled him; its generosity reminded him so powerfully of Margot that he could only stare at the slip of paper in shock. He snatched up his kit then and hurried out of the flat.

Memling finished his course of instruction on Thursday afternoon, satisfied that short of actual practice in a factory, he had taught them all he could. He watched them go and, for some unaccountable reason, shivered. The SP asked Memling to wait, and a few minutes later Simon-Benet came to thank him for his help. Memling had not seen the colonel since the first day, and now he appeared preoccupied.

‘Really appreciated your help, Memling. Anything I can do for you, just let me know.’ He started for the door, then hesitated. ‘None of my business really, but I was in Englesby’s office this forenoon. His girl, Janet, asked about you. Pleasant enough little thing. Your orders allow you to stay over until tomorrow evening if you like.’

He gave Memling a wave and, as if embarrassed, went out quickly. The SP motioned for him to follow, and at the front door he was handed a packet containing travel orders and train ticket.

A car and driver were waiting. The weather had moderated, and with the omnipresent stench of coal smoke banished by the war rationing board, the air was springlike. Memling got into the car, and the driver waited until he remembered to tell him to go to the officers’ club in Curzon Street.

Janet had asked about him. Then she obviously had not yet received his thank-you note. The mail, like all other civilian services, had been slowed by the requirements of war. He decided to take advantage of Simon-Benet’s generous offer of an extra day’s leave. He could call at the flat, and perhaps they could even have dinner. He was struck by a powerful longing for her company that was clearly sexual. What the hell, he chided himself, the first damned skirt that shows an interest... Yet he knew that there was more than a casual attraction between them. Not even in wartime London did women invite men to share a flat so readily.

For eight months in Belgium and then the intervening year in the Special Services, he had lived a monk’s existence. And with good reason, he thought with sudden insight. It was impossible for him to endure the anguish of losing someone again. Those few months with Margot had contained more happiness than he ever imagined existed and somehow left no room for another woman. That’s a lie, he told himself savagely. But only partially so.

The car rounded the corner and drew up before the blacked-out bulk of the building housing the officers’ club, a former dormitory for one of the many medical schools in the area.

‘Will you need me further, sir?’

Memling turned his wrist to catch a bit of stray light from the dashboard. His train left Euston in forty minutes. For a moment the urge to stay was overwhelming.

‘Yes.’

The driver waited patiently, and Memling forced the words: ‘You can drive me to Euston Station.’

The coward has won again, he thought.

Wernher von Braun tore the end from the envelope and extracted the letter. He read it quickly, then flourished it at Franz Bethwig and Walter Dornberger.

‘You would not believe me,’ he crowed, ‘but here it is, in black and white and from Heydrich himself.’

Bethwig grabbed the paper. It was true: official recognition from someone powerful enough in both party and government to make it work. He shook his head in admiration. ‘I have to admit, Wernher, I would never have believed it possible.’

‘And he says that he has the Führer’s backing as well.’ Von Braun slapped the desk. ‘Damn, but this is good news!’ Dornberger tapped his pencil on the desk, if you gentlemen are quite through; I have a great deal of work to finish today.’

Von Braun laughed and clapped his boss on the shoulder. ‘For God’s sake, Walter, I should think you would be as happy as we are. We can proceed with the A-Ten project now and with the full backing of the government. You are in an even more powerful position than before.’

Dornberger looked unconvinced. ‘Perhaps,’ he finally replied. ‘But it is easy enough to get such a paper. And these days everyone uses Hitler’s name as if it were a talisman. If the Führer spends as much time reviewing and approving these pet projects as everyone claims, I do not see how he finds time to eat or sleep, let alone to direct the war effort. I have warned you too many times before not to mix in politics, especially at Heydrich’s level. The favourite today can just as easily disappear tomorrow. We have all seen it happen. Remember Roehm? They shot him. And he put Hitler in power.’

‘But this is Reinhard Heydrich we are talking about.’ Von Braun grinned. ‘Who in Germany is strong enough to pull him down? The head of the SD has got to be - ‘

‘All-powerful?’ Dornberger supplied, in today’s Germany there is no such person, perhaps not even the Führer himself.’ He paused to study each of them in turn. ‘The SS never relinquish anything. The A-Ten will come under complete SS control, you two included.’

Bethwig shook his head. ‘No, Walter, that’s where you’re wrong. We have Heydrich’s own assurance that is not so. There will be no interference from the SS. It’s our show, start to finish.’ He smiled at Dornberger. ‘Wernher and I swore that we would work with anyone to get this project under way, and you yourself agreed that it might well be Germany’s only salvation now that the Americans have entered the war.’

Dornberger gave him a troubled look and picked up several folders from his desk. ‘I only hope it does not turn out that you’ve sold your souls without realising their true value.’

At the end of March von Braun flew from the Luftwaffe airfield on Peenemunde to report to Heydrich in Prague. Bethwig watched the little blue Bf.108 disappear into the low cloud, then drove back to his office, conscious that his initial excitement was dissipating the more he delved into the numerous problems surrounding the new project. But then, it was always like this: intense excitement giving way to the hard work and sheer hell of wrestling with recalcitrant technical problems. He was also worried about von Braun. Bethwig had to admit that for a young man to become the director of a major military project was a heady experience, but more and more the man was acting like a child with a new toy. Particularly when it came to the Messerschmitt aircraft that Heydrich had put at his disposal. Von Braun was an enthusiastic pilot and a good one, but his first itinerary was definitely too ambitious. He would be gone at least two weeks. Following the Prague meeting he would visit contractors’ plants from Munich to Stuttgart before returning to Peenemunde. Then there was the side trip to Liege to check on the injector systems being built at the Manufacture d’Armes. As no one high in management had visited the factory since the contract had been established eighteen months before, it was time someone did so, Wernher had told him. Showing the flag, he had called it.

Privately Bethwig felt it all had gone to von Braun’s head; yet at the same time he did not feel as if he could begrudge him his fun. Certainly he had an outsized ego. All good scientists did; it was a prerequisite for anyone who wished to accomplish grand schemes. But in the meantime here at home where the work was done, he had several knotty problems to contend with. And now Heydrich was pressuring them to move the project schedule up unrealistically for political reasons. So far, von Braun had resisted his blandishments; nevertheless, the reichsprotektor was pushing them to reconsider. His last cable had been tantamount to an order and was at least part of the reason von Braun had rushed off to Prague.

They were, he thought, beginning to discover that Dornberger might well have been correct in his assessment of Heydrich’s support; the priority assigned the A-10 project was more illusion than substance. Dornberger had pointed out to them just the evening before that even in Germany the anomaly of a political policeman conducting his own military weapons project at a research station owned and funded by the army would hardly pass unremarked.

‘The political situation is becoming murkier all the time, damn it,’ Dornberger had snapped. ‘There is no telling which way the winds will shift next. After the army’s failure to take Moscow last year, we are all on probation. Another failure, and heads will roll. And I mean that literally. You two are employees of the army - civilians yes, but still employees. So don’t think you would be spared if someone took it into his head that we are wasting time, money, and vital resources up here.’

As the spring wore on, von Braun made several flights to Prague and to various contractors in occupied Europe, while Bethwig had managed only three short visits to Hradcany Castle himself. He was left more and more with the day-to-day operations of both the A-10 and A-4 series - the latter now approached flight-test status - and spent long hours in the construction sheds watching the assembly workers closely as the parts were slowly integrated and the first three rockets began to take shape. In the evenings he wrote reports to Heydrich’s staff and fended off their demands for faster progress. Dornberger lent a hand whenever possible; but as the test centre had grown, he had moved into the administrative end and was more often than not in Berlin.

In the nights, between his infrequent visits to Prague, Bethwig was tortured by images of Inge. At first he was inclined to dismiss his reaction as simple sexual desire. But then he became convinced, or convinced himself - he was never certain which - that there was more to his feeling for Inge than mere lust. Uppermost in his mind was the intense desire to protect her from - and here Bethwig faltered, embarrassed - the clutches of the SS. It began to sound to him like one of those stage melodramas in which the hero rushes in at the last moment to save the beautiful heroine from a lifetime of degradation.

He could not even bring himself to talk to von Braun about her. Somehow the thought of having his best friend know about the girl was too much for him. How do you explain your infatuation with a retarded prostitute? he wondered. Consequently, the more he thought about her, the more confused he became. And night after night he lay awake trying to understand his feelings for her.

In late April Heydrich arrived by steamer and was met at the wharf by a band and high-ranking officers of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe staffs who watched stiffly as the great man and his entourage strode down the gangway. Bethwig did not attend the ceremony. He was too busy in the wind-tunnel lab arguing with Dr Rudolph Hermann, the director, over the meaning of new supersonic test results. Their discussion was interrupted by a messenger with peremptory instructions for him to present himself immediately.

Bethwig did not bother to change from laboratory dungarees but crossed the road to the administrative building white-faced with anger. Heydrich had commandeered the canteen, closing it to the staff, and was holding court.

In the two months that had elapsed since his visit to Prague, Bethwig was shocked at the way the man had aged - dissipated is perhaps a better word, he thought. The head of the SD and the chosen successor to Hitler stopped speaking and glared as he entered. An aide jumped forward, frowning at the interruption, and motioned brusquely to a chair near the front of the semi-circle of attentive listeners. Bethwig ignored him, dragged a chair from the wall, reversed it, and sank down, resting his chin on crossed arms. The aide started towards him, but Bethwig waved him away in exasperation. Heydrich resumed his monologue. Bethwig barely concealed a yawn. He had no idea why he was going out of his way to antagonise the man. Idly he supposed it had to do with his father’s opinion that Heydrich represented the almost criminal element that seemed to have captured the party since the war began.

‘These people have little concept of the fight the Führer is waging for Germany’s chance to resume her rightful place among the world’s nations,’ the old man thundered at the least provocation, instead, they think only of personal empires, of thrusting as much money and power into their bottomless pockets as possible.’

Bethwig knew his father was correct, and the thought that both he and Wernher could become like them was disturbing. It was a few minutes before Heydrich’s voice penetrated the haze of weariness and indifference that had overcome him. When it did, he sat up with a jerk and noticed that von Braun was giving him worried glances.

‘…. and now that the liquid-oxygen problem has been solved, the A-Four is expected to be operational by mid-1943 and the A-Ten in December of the following year.’ Heydrich beamed around at the assembled scientists. One or two here and there nodded and smiled, but the majority exchanged worried looks. Von Braun’s fingers tapped nervously on the table for a moment.

‘Herr Heydrich,’ he said into the silence, ‘I am afraid your timetable is off. The A-Four has yet to fly, and the A-Ten engines have yet to be tested. We do not know what problems we may encounter. I have just spent the morning discussing the effects of aerodynamic drag on the rocket’s structure as it re-enters the atmosphere. Several new facts have come to light that may - ‘

Heydrich laughed and held up a hand. ‘Please, Herr Doktor von Braun, I certainly do not presume to tell experts how their work should be done.’ He chuckled in depreciation of his own abilities. ‘But I have observed that the successful scientist never knows when to turn his energies to new tasks.’ He beamed at them all like a kindly uncle. ‘Once you have fired the first one or two A- Four rockets, you simply must turn the project over to others and devote your attention strictly to the A-Ten.’ Heydrich stood abruptly. ‘But now we must discuss another subject, gentlemen - the use of slave labour to supplement the work force already at Peenemunde.’ Heydrich frowned at the murmur of protest and waved a hand at an SS major standing behind him.