Vengeance 10 (29 page)

‘Any more like this, Squadron Leader?’

The man shook his head. ‘Not yet, sir. But we have another high altitude flight scheduled as soon as the weather clears. The Yanks will be doing this one. We have to be careful, though. If Jerry gets the idea that we’re interested in the area, he’ll start taking precautions.’

‘Where was this taken?’

‘Place called Peenemunde. An island off the Baltic coast, near Stettin. Used to be a seaside resort before the war.’

Simon-Benet nodded as if the information were not unexpected. ‘Thank you, Squadron Leader. I assume that you have given this area the highest priority?’

‘Yes, sir. And we have initiated a review of past observations of the area.’

‘Very good. Keep me informed. That will be all.’

The brigadier motioned Memling into a chair as the squadron leader left.

‘You recognised the name of that island, sir?’

Simon-Benet nodded absently. ‘First heard of the place in 1939. A report appeared at our Oslo embassy just after the Nazis attacked Poland. Everyone thought it a plant.’ He sat down, still staring at the photograph. ‘How do you feel, Jan, now that you have been vindicated?’

Memling cocked his head at the unusual question. ‘It hadn’t yet occurred to me that I had,’ he answered stiffly.

The brigadier held up a hand. ‘Just pulling your leg, my boy. Didn’t expect it to come off in my hand. Look here, the name Peenemunde is familiar. For several months now, we’ve been getting reports through from various sources that something is going on up there. Civilians barred from the area, huge shipments of supplies and materials going in, a search through forced labour camps for scientific and technically trained types who are all then sent north. Tell you anything?’

Memling frowned. ‘Depends on how many of those people they are after, sir. If it’s only a few, it might not mean anything. But if it’s several hundred ...’

‘Several thousand. And my sources believe it’s only the beginning. I might add that these sources are Polish. Their Armia Krajowa has been quite active in this area, as a good many of their POWs from 1939 have been sent to the labour camp at Peenemunde. Strange reports of flying torpedoes and such like have been coming through from the Baltic coastline for months. Seems they have been confirmed now.’

‘What’s the next step then, sir?’

The brigadier shrugged. ‘That may not be up to us. I’ve just had a meeting with our new boss. The Prime Minister is becoming concerned and has decided to formalise our little group. We are all now under the command of a gentleman named Duncan Sandys. Is the name familiar?’

Memling frowned. ‘Seems to be ... but I can’t place it exactly.’

‘Well, Mr Sandys is, or was, joint parliamentary secretary for the Ministry of Supply. He does have two other qualifications that provide me with a degree of hope. He commanded an experimental rocket battery at Aberporth and he is Mr Churchill’s son-in-law. Perhaps we now have someone of sufficient stature to stand up to Lord Cherwell.’

Memling gave a low whistle. ‘And when did this all take place?’

‘Just the past few days. As I said, the government is beginning to take quite seriously the possibility that the Germans may indeed be developing long-range rockets. But until things clarify themselves, we must sit tight and see.’

Franz Bethwig studied the three faces and was struck by the way in which they delivered or received the news: the triumphant sallow face of Minister Gerhard Degenkolb, the apoplectic face of General Dornberger, and the thunderstruck countenance of Wernher von Braun.

Professor Hettlage cleared his throat timidly as if wanting to say something more, but Degenkolb signalled him to be quiet.

‘May I ask who suggested this insanity?’ Bethwig enquired politely.

Minister Degenkolb glared at him. ‘The suggestion came directly from Minister Speer. And I suggest that you modify your language appropriately or you may find yourself in very hot water, sir.’

Bethwig gave him a lazy smile. ‘You think so, do you?’

Dornberger intervened: ‘And why,’ he asked, voice barely under control, ‘did the minister suggest this course of action?’

Degenkolb glared once more at Bethwig before answering. ‘Minister Speer is most concerned with Reichsführer Himmler’s offer to employ Herr Doktors von Braun and Bethwig. Minister Speer is certain this is a first step towards assuming control of the Peenemunde facility, in spite of the good doctors’ persistent refusals. He felt that converting the entire Army Research Centre, Peenemunde, to a private stock company would circumvent the Reichsführer’s plans. I advise you to go along with him. Otherwise, you gentlemen’ - he glared at the two scientists - ‘will find yourselves in the employ of the SS, and you, sir’ - he addressed Dornberger - ‘will be seeking a new post!’

Dornberger waved a hand as if dismissing that possibility. ‘May I enquire how the change is intended to be made?’ Dornberger’s famed control seemed to be deserting him. Bethwig had never before heard such anger in his voice.

‘Of course. Peenemunde would be transformed into a private company with limited liability. The entire capital would remain for now with the state, while the firm would be managed by a large concern acting as trustee - General Electric, Siemens, Rhinemetall, or Krupp, whichever is found most suitable. After amortisation of capital invested, the plant would be transferred to possession of the firm.’

‘Are you aware,’ Dornberger asked, ‘that the value of Peenemunde and its equipment is several hundred million marks? The interest payments and amortisation quotas could hardly be of interest to industry.’

Degenkolb smiled at that, and Professor Hettlage intervened, anxious that his contribution not be overlooked. ‘We already have acceptable tenders in that regard. We would make a cut in capital and declare assets of between one and two million, letting the rest go.’

Bethwig burst into laughter. ‘Amazing,’ he finally managed. ‘You will take an investment worth several hundred million marks and turn it, by a “cut in capital”, into a bargain. Of course, once the shares are resold by the state to a few select individuals - including, I have no doubt, you, Herr Degenkolb, and Minister Speer - the assets would then be re-evaluated and inventoried at their real worth. How very clever.’ Bethwig sat forward abruptly and snarled. ‘In the meantime the hell with the war effort, heh? We must not let that interfere with the lining of your pockets, must we?’

Degenkolb’s mouth worked in astonishment at being accused of outright thievery.

‘Do not look so surprised, Minister. I am, after all, a banker’s son.’

With an angry hiss Hettlage motioned to Dornberger to control his subordinate, but the general only stared at him. ‘I assume,’ he said finally, ‘that this suggestion has been cleared with General Fromm. If not, then we have nothing further to discuss.’

Dornberger got to his feet and stamped out, followed by von Braun and Bethwig. Franz turned at the door. ‘Minister Degenkolb, you are an excellent administrator, if somewhat of a bastard. I suggest you stick to that and leave the thieving to others.’ He smiled wickedly and closed the door.

As they walked across the park to the administration building von Braun waved an arm about. ‘Look at this. Laboratories, wind tunnels, construction and production facilities, housing, shops, amusement centres, and test stands, all employing and housing over four thousand people. How in the name of God can that man think this could all be turned into a moneymaking concern? Why, our budget is one hundred and fifty million marks per year. What do we sell? How can they possibly expect to make money?’

Bethwig explained patiently that the investors would make their money simply by buying the facility for a fraction of its worth, then at some later date selling it for its true worth either back to the government or to a holding company that they would invent; that company would, of course, be funded by the government.

Von Braun listened patiently; when Bethwig finished, he gave him a dubious glance but did not argue. Dornberger left to begin a series of phone calls, the first to Colonel General Fromm, chief of armaments and his direct superior.

Von Braun’s secretary, Hannelore Bannasch, met them at the elevator and gave her boss an envelope bearing Himmler’s personal seal. Von Braun glanced at Bethwig, then opened and read the message. He tossed it to his friend with a pleased expression.

‘That seems to be that. Perhaps Speer’s little game has frightened him away for now.’

The letter said only that because of changing circumstances the Reichsführer’s offer of direct employment had been withdrawn. The Reichsführer sent his best regards and wished them every success for the sake of the Reich. Bethwig felt a chill spread slowly through him, then mumbled an excuse and rushed to his own office. The envelope waiting for him contained two notes: one, impeccably typed, was an exact copy of von Braun’s. The second, in Himmler’s own spidery handwriting, reported that Inge had taken a turn for the worse and the doctors had not thought it wise to release her just yet - perhaps in a few months when the situation clarified itself.

He was being punished for his failure to persuade von Braun to join the SS. The fact that he had had little chance of ever doing so would make no impression at all on the Reichsführer.

A member of his staff telephoned to request an appointment to review the new procedures for the fast-approaching launch of the second A-10 rocket. Bethwig put the man off for the moment, pleading other commitments. No sooner had he hung up than the phone rang again. This time it was Dornberger, telling him to prepare for a visit to Hitler’s eastern headquarters to report on their progress to date. A few moments later von Braun burst in, grinning broadly, convinced that Speer had won, had beaten Himmler at his own game, and that they would now have a chance to change the Führer’s mind about the worth of rockets.

The meeting had been as stormy as the day outside, and Brigadier Oliver Simon-Benet fumed as he and Captain Jan Memling hurried along the road to their car. Jan opened the door and stepped back, but the brigadier, who held the umbrella, motioned him in impatiently. As the staff car, an American Buick - Memling still did not understand how Simon-Benet had acquired it - edged into traffic the brigadier swore and shoved the folded umbrella into its holder as if bayoneting his worst enemy.

‘Damn, I suppose they’re right. One more overflight at low level and the Germans are certain to know we’re on to them. But we do need those data! Isn’t there anything more CIU can do?’ he demanded plaintively.

Memling shook his head, ‘I’ve been over it a dozen times with them. Perhaps if the weather had been better . . .’ He shook his head, recalling the grainy, underexposed pictures that were all the photorecon aircraft, at the very limits of their fuel supply, had been able to obtain. ‘Unless your people on the ground can obtain the information, I am afraid we will have to go on what we now have.’

The brigadier muttered to himself, then said, ‘Nothing there, I am afraid. The AK people say their only contacts inside Peenemunde are with low-level labourers.’ He fell silent, staring out at the rain-sodden streets. May has been nothing more than a month of rain, he thought, all across Europe. But they had to have that data. Without specific and precise co-ordinates for the important test sites and facilities, Bomber Command could never hope to destroy the Peenemunde research centre. It was just too huge. He glanced at Memling sitting beside him, likewise staring out at the rain. He had been considering this solution for some time now but had not wanted to broach it until every conceivable avenue had been explored.

‘Jan,’ he began abruptly. ‘We need to send someone in. Someone who has the training to understand what he’s seeing. Will you go?’

For just an instant Memling thought he might vomit. He breathed slowly through his nose at the same time tightening his diaphragm to control the gag reflex. Ah, Christ, he thought, to go back again? He couldn’t do it, but even as the thought was formulated he knew he had no other choice. Janet was right, he had done more than his share. But that was an excuse no one would ever accept, particularly the brigadier.

Simon-Benet grunted in satisfaction at his nod of acceptance.

The blackness was absolute until he tugged back his sleeve and the radium dial of his watch glowed like a hundred-watt bulb. Three and a half hours since take-off. Jan Memling groaned and shifted position in the cramped confines of the Mosquito’s bomb bay. His legs were numb, and his back ached. The space, according to his sadistic instructor, was no larger than the famous medieval torture chamber in which you could neither sit up nor lie down at full length.

Memling shifted again and tugged on the parachute harness until the offending buckle came away from his spine. He started to curse, but gave it up, having already run through his entire vocabulary several times, and looked at the watch again. Twenty- five minutes. Of a sudden, that damnable surge of fear slashed through his chest. After two years’ active service in the Royal Marine Commandos he thought he was finished with that pervasive terror. My God, he wondered, why did I never experience it in combat? Why now? Why always in situations where I must operate on my own? Memling found that he was starting to hyperventilate, and he struggled to hold his breath; then as he began to think coherently he pinched the oxygen tube shut and squeezed the rubber bulb to force carbon dioxide back into the mask. After a few moments his heart stopped fluttering and his breathing evened. This was always the worst part, the anticipation. Yet Memling also knew from experience that the fear would continue, growing more intense, until he was safely out - or dead. It did no good telling himself he hadn’t wanted this mission; no one ever did.

‘Are you comfortable, old man?’ The pilot’s voice rattled in his earphones, startling him. Memling swore and the pilot laughed. ‘Ten minutes will see us passing south of Greifswald. Five minutes more will put us north of Wolgast and into your drop area.’