Vengeance 10 (24 page)

Tension was palpable in the tiny restaurant, and the head waiter started as if to intervene, but another waiter wisely held him back.

‘I am sorry that you retain such a poor opinion of me ...’

‘You brought the charges against Herr Doktor von Braun, did you not?’ Bethwig continued. ‘Only an incompetent ass would present such a monstrous series of lies in the form of an indictment. You, Major Walsch, are a disgrace to the position you hold and to the Reich.’ Bethwig had carried his half-empty glass with him, and as he finished speaking he threw the contents into Walsch’s face. The Gestapo officer jumped back, tripped against his chair, and fell over backwards. Bethwig calmly extracted a five-mark note from his wallet and tossed it on the table.

‘That will pay for cleaning your coat, Major. Good day.’

He turned and walked out of the restaurant to the spontaneous applause of the other patrons as waiters rushed to help Walsch. One began dabbing his coat with salt and water, but Walsch pushed him away and went to a telephone.

It was a foolish thing to do, Bethwig thought as he strode along the busy street. A cloud had passed in front of the sun, easing the heat but increasing the mugginess. The city had suddenly become stifling. He returned to his hotel room and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sitting by the window with his shirt off, enduring the heat and the uncertainty. The summons to Himmler’s office came the next morning.

Himmler was standing with his back to the room, peering through the heavy curtain behind his desk. The single ray of sunlight dispelled some of the gloom, enough anyway to permit Bethwig to see von Braun sitting in the chair before the desk. A second chair had been placed two metres away, also facing the desk. Von Braun half turned to see who had entered; his face was expressionless.

‘Please have a seat, Herr Doktor Bethwig.’ Himmler dropped the curtain and turned, twisting the pince-nez between his fingers. He took a gold pocket watch from his trousers, snapped the lid open, and gazed off into space as if considering. Then, having decided, he shut the lid and put it away.

‘Come, come. I haven’t much time. I must leave shortly for a tour of our resettlement camps in the Government-General of Poland. My staff expects to demonstrate their latest procedures.’ He was smiling now as he motioned to the chair.

‘But then, you two gentlemen do not wish to hear about my administrative problems. I am certain that you have sufficient of your own.’

Bethwig sat down, glancing cautiously at von Braun, who was staring at Himmler with a look that Bethwig could not quite describe. There was a bandage on his forehead and several bruises about his chin. When he moved his head, he did so as if his neck were stiff. The image of Inge’s battered body flashed across his mind.

‘I suggest, then, Herr Himmler,’ von Braun rasped, ‘that we stop all needless conversation and get right to the point.’

Himmler raised an eyebrow at him but only murmured, ‘As you wish.’

Von Braun turned by twisting his upper body so that he was looking at Bethwig. ‘Herr Himmler has made an interesting proposition. I refused to give him an answer until you could hear it as well.’ Himmler nodded in agreement. ‘Basically he is offering to allow work on the A-Ten to continue, but under his sponsorship and direction. Herr Himmler is convinced that Reichsprotektor Heydrich was doing the correct thing when he instituted the project.’ Von Braun’s voice had a sarcastic tone that Bethwig had never heard before. ‘We are to meet the time schedule laid down by Heydrich.’

‘That’s all?’ Bethwig glanced at Himmler, thinking that Heydrich had won after all and that this had all been a charade... to a point.

‘All? What more would you expect?’

‘The charges, Herr Reichsführer. What about them? Does Doktor von Braun remain under - what is your fancy legal term? Schutzhaft, protective custody?’

Himmler waved a hand. ‘Ah, the charges. Probably nonsense as you suggested the other day. In due course the investigation will be completed and, if warranted, the charges dismissed. In the meantime I see no reason why an eminent scientist such as Doktor von Braun should not, with the proper security supervision, of course, continue work that best serves the Reich.’

‘With the proper security supervision? I understand that political prisoners and Jews are allowed to function under those conditions. Not eminent scientists.’

‘Well, young man, you must keep in mind that Doktor von Braun has been charged with a serious crime. I would be derelict in my duty if I neglected to order such supervision, particularly when the person in question is engaged on a project of the highest importance to the Reich.’

‘Of course,’ Bethwig murmured. ‘Derelict.’ He turned to von Braun who was staring down at his hands. ‘What do you think, Wernher?’

Von Braun nodded without looking up, and Bethwig noticed that a bruise on his cheek was fresh enough to show a crust of blood. ‘Was that necessary?’ He swung back to Himmler, who seemed to know exactly what he meant. The Reichsführer shrugged.

‘You must understand that the SD deals with the worst sort of animal, the traitor. Because they are exposed to this filth so often, they tend to become overzealous.’ There was no hint of apology in his voice.

Bethwig restrained a comment. ‘As I understand it, then, the project will be allowed to continue as before. Will the army not have something to say about such interference?’

Himmler smiled. ‘The OKW has agreed with my assessment and stand ready to co-operate. As Doktor von Braun remarked, I believe that my good friend Reinhard made a wise choice. Yes, the project must continue, on the schedule as modified by the Reichsprotektor’s planning staff.’

That was too much for Bethwig and he started to protest, but von Braun held up a hand. ‘Never mind, Franz, we will do our best.’

Himmler bounced to his feet then as the door opened and the ubiquitous aide stepped in.

‘I apologise for my haste, but I do have to leave. An officer will be assigned to act as co-ordinator. Webel here will provide the details.’ Himmler stopped half-way across the room and turned once more to face them.

‘Gentlemen, I will expect your complete and personal loyalty in this matter. Complete and personal.’

The aide drew the door closed as Himmler vanished.

The aircraft left Tempelhof in advance of a thunderstorm, and for a while the violence of the flight precluded conversation; but by the time they passed over Stettin, the storm had abated and the aircraft had broken out into clear air below the clouds. As Bethwig stared through the window at the limpid, watery sky and landscape he felt for a moment as if they were giant fish gliding above an aquarium landscape.

Von Braun was silent, brooding, eyes fixed on his window. Bethwig was already regretting that he had left his car behind in Berlin for a complete overhaul. The long drive north would probably have benefited his friend.

‘What happened, Wernher?’

For a while von Braun did not answer. Finally, he glanced across the aisle.

‘They thought I had something to do with Heydrich’s murder.’ Bethwig had to strain to hear him above the noise of the engines. They accused me of all sorts of stupid things that first day, even as far back as those asinine charges levelled against Willy Ley in 1931. I was accused of helping him sell VfR petrol on the black market. But the most serious charge, besides murder, was that I was wasting government money and manpower on personal projects.’

The A-Ten?’

Von Braun nodded, it’s a political game, Franz,’ he said with no sign of emotion. ‘All of them - Heydrich, Himmler, and the people they control - would throw this war away to line their own pockets. They care nothing at all for Germany. I spent an hour with Himmler before you arrived.’

Bethwig glanced sharply at his friend but kept quiet.

‘Do you know what this was all about? Why they arrested me and threw me in that hole that passes for a jail cell?’ He took a deep breath. ‘When Heydrich was killed, Himmler saw it as his chance to find out what Heydrich had been involved in. People were sent to Prague for his files, just as that SS officer friend of yours predicted. Himmler discovered just enough to whet his appetite. He had me arrested then. At first they suggested that I co-operate. The interrogator was a nice man, about fifty and very pleasant. Of course, I was too dense to realise what they were after, and told him no. So they taught me. God, how they taught me. It is amazing what a rubber hose can do in the hands of someone who knows how to use it.’

He twisted in his seat to face Bethwig. ‘Franz, you cannot help yourself. They do things to you that you would not believe one human being could do to another. It is more than just the pain, it ... it’s... the indignity.’ Von Braun fell silent and turned back to the window.

The plane shuddered in the thick air, and Bethwig’s ears popped. The aircraft was losing altitude for the descent into the Luftwaffe airfield on Peenemunde. Suddenly Bethwig was no longer so certain that people like his father could deal with this new element in the party. Wernher von Braun was a famous scientist, an army employee, the son of a wealthy and influential father, yet they had done this to him with impunity. Even the army had been helpless to stop it; and for the first time the vast power of the SS was borne in upon him. The SS had become a state unto itself. All the normal constitutional and legal guarantees did not apply to their victims. What was it that Himmler had said? ‘We do not need the courts to remind us of our duty.’ Nor did they want them to interfere. It was so much easier to conduct business by tribunal.

The rain had begun again as the Junkers aircraft lined up for its approach. Staring at the long streamers pouring down on the scrub and pine forest of the island, von Braun murmured just above the engine noise:

‘We thought Heydrich was the Devil? We were wrong, Franz. He was merely the Devil’s cub.’

Jan Memling turned the jeep into the narrow street and slowed to examine the buildings on either side, particularly the upper-storey windows. His sergeant was doing likewise from behind a fifty-calibre machine-gun mount. Narrow two-and three-storey buildings with decaying fronts lined each side of the road before debouching several hundred feet further on into a sort of village square. He could even see the remains of a fountain that probably had not worked even before the war.

The jeep idled along, its engine rough. It was badly in need of an overhaul, but he knew there was little likelihood of its getting one any time soon. Memling nursed the pedal to keep the revs up. The silence was unnerving. Both men knew the enemy was there.

‘There,’ he muttered, not moving his lips. ‘Third-storey window, on the right, grey-brick building, two ahead.’ The familiar excitement began to build, and he found himself smiling.

‘Right, sir.’ The sergeant shifted his stance. Memling knew they would wait until the jeep was directly beneath, then lob grenades, supplemented by MG fire from one of the other buildings. It was a classic street ambush and a difficult one to survive. The hard choice was which to hit first - providing you spotted them: the bomb throwers or the machine-gunner?

Memling eased the clutch out until the jeep bucked and threatened to stall. He bent forward as if adjusting the throttle and made a quick survey of the buildings on the left. Just along the road and two opposite he had caught a glimpse of movement in an upper-storey window. He described it to the sergeant and pushed the clutch in.

‘Hang on tight. I’ll dash for the left side of the street. Put a burst through that window. I’ll take the bombers. When I shout, you duck. Understood?’

‘Right you are, sir.’ The sergeant was a combat veteran with two years in the desert, and he did not like street fighting one bit. He wanted to be able to see his enemy, and Memling was well aware of the man’s shortcomings in that regard.

‘Just do as I tell you sergeant and you’ll be all right.’ Memling dared not risk a glance behind. ‘Get ready. On three. One ... two ... three!’

He yanked the wheel hard left, jammed the accelerator down, and the jeep stalled. The MG exploded into action and Memling was out in an instant, crouching beside the jeep, Sten gun poking over the bonnet; but a figure was already in the window, and the stick grenade flew at them before he could open fire.

‘Duck!’ The sergeant landed on the cobbles beside him as the grenade hit the gun mount and bounced to the road. It rolled under the jeep and went off in a plume of choking red smoke.

A whistle blew, and Memling got up, swearing, as the referee strolled from the doorway behind. ‘Afraid you chaps have bought it. Grenade exploded right under your petrol tank.’ He waved his stick at the window where a grinning commando was leaning out. ‘Good pitch, lad. Good pitch.’

‘South Maling will be wanting him after the war.’ The instructor, a reed-thin colonel with an artificial leg, offered Memling and the sergeant a cigarette. ‘American, ‘I’m afraid. All I could get at the NAAFI.’ The sergeant accepted the light, then saluted and went off” to return the jeep. Memling and the colonel walked along the street which was now full of enlisted men in fatigues setting up for the next practice.

‘Weren’t quite quick enough, were you? Next time, Jerry will be using live bombs,’ the colonel observed. ‘Not like you to mess up that way.’

Memling gave him a quirky smile and thought about the jeep’s stalling. Excuses were never acceptable. He should have foreseen that possibility. ‘If we were perfect every time, there wouldn’t be any sense to having a war. No one would get killed. Then where would we be?’

‘Sounds a bit Bolshie to me,’ the colonel chuckled. ‘I understand you go off on leave today.’

Memling nodded. ‘That probably accounts for my lack of quickness back there. Hard to keep your mind on playing soldier when that nonsense is coming up afterwards.’

The colonel lurched to a stop, then with a mutter lifted his left leg and shook the knee joint back into position. ‘Yes, there is that. Still I suppose it can’t be avoided.’