Vengeance 10 (39 page)

Twice more, bombs fell across the island, although none came as close as the first wave. The bombers seemed to be concentrating on the very northern tip and the south-eastern coast, midway along the island’s length, where staff housing was clustered. By design or luck? he wondered bitterly.

The shelter door was hammered open and lamps flashed into the interior. ‘All men outside now!’ The angry shout sounded far away. ‘Women and children to remain inside until the all clear.’ Bethwig had been holding Hanna’s hand, and she gave him a quick kiss as he stumbled to his feet. An SS squad was checking each man for injuries and forming them into work parties. Bethwig found himself in one composed entirely of Russian prisoners.

The SS officer flashed his light over Bethwig’s face and clothing. ‘You, are you German?’

Bethwig, still partly stunned by the violence and terror of the past few hours, could only stare at him. The officer shouted the question once more, and he nodded then, understanding.

‘You damned civilians,’ the officer stormed. ‘You should all serve on the Russian front for a month . . . Take this group to Building Fourteen. Put out any fires, rescue anyone caught inside, and save what you can. Go on now, damn you!’

He pushed Bethwig towards the building and raced off with his squad to the next shelter. Franz stumbled through the trees, the Russians following apathetically until they broke out on to a rubble-filled square in front of the two-storey building housing the measurement labs. The area was deserted, with not even a soldier in sight, and when Bethwig turned, struggling to shake off the effects of the bombing, he found that half or more of his prisoners had disappeared. It makes no real difference, he thought, and ran up to the front door to find it locked. A tall Russian in a filthy striped prisoner’s pullover and trousers shouldered him aside as he shook the door, and, with a delighted grin, smashed the glass with a stone. They pushed into the hall, coughing in the dense smoke. The fire seemed confined to the first floor, and they raced up the stairs to the corridor above just as the ceiling fell in. A jet of flame lashed the corridor, and the Russians ducked and beat a hasty retreat. They began to kick open doors and rush around gathering up armfuls of equipment. Bethwig, his wits returning with activity, pointed out the most important pieces to be saved. They had gone little more than half-way along the hall before the ceiling burst open with a crack like a cannon shot. As one man, they raced from the building only seconds before it collapsed.

The next building, housing the chemistry development laboratories, was also in flames. Bethwig led them across the lawn at a run to repeat the performance, and this time they managed to bring the fire under control with the building’s own fire-fighting system. While three men played hoses the length of the hall, some prisoners broke into the labs to salvage what they could while others covered equipment and files against water damage. Time after time Bethwig was astonished at the risks the prisoners took to fight the fire or to salvage equipment. He was also struck by their gaunt, wasted appearance and the rags they wore. Most were barefoot or had only the poorest cardboard sandals.

As dawn approached and the fire came under control, he had time to look around. With the exception of the Measurements Building, which had been destroyed, relatively little damage had been done to the area in which the laboratories were clustered. To the south-east the sky above the pine forest pulsated with the reddish hell of raging fires ignited by incendiary bombs, while to the north, in the direction of the test stands where the first strike had been centred, there were only a few isolated columns of smoke visible against the dawn sky. To the west, at mid-island, there was no smoke or flame visible at all, and Bethwig felt momentary relief. Apparently the immense test facilities for the A-10 were well enough camouflaged to have escaped detection.

With the fire out, Bethwig decided to send one of the prisoners to look for transport to take them south to join those fighting fires in the housing areas, but before he could do so, SS troops burst from the trees and with kicks and blows rounded up the Russians. Bethwig grabbed the non-commissioned officer who seemed to be in charge.

‘What the hell do you bastards think you’re doing?’ he demanded. ‘Order your men to stop beating those prisoners now!’ The hauptschauführer jerked his arm away and, ignoring Bethwig, started for the truck. Bethwig ran after him, screaming in anger, the terror and tension of the night released all at once in a blind rage. He yanked the man to a stop and swung him around. ‘You rotten son of a bitch, these men have risked their lives ...’ Without a change of expression, the hauptschauführer struck him in the solar plexus with his Mauser pistol. Bethwig fell to his knees, paralysed, unable to speak or even to breathe. Two SS men picked him up and threw him into the back of the truck with the Russians.

Heinrich Himmler stared down at Franz Bethwig with ill-concealed satisfaction. Behind him, General Dornberger glared and two SS officers waited, their faces carefully non-committal.

‘My dear Franz, I seem to find you in the strangest places. Would you care to tell me how you got here?’

Bethwig glared at the Reichsführer - at his carefully tailored uniform, at the shining patent boots, at the carefully formed officer’s cap perched daintily on his head - and a series of answers, most of them blasphemous, occurred to him. Instead, he got wearily to his feet, trying not to allow the pain to show. He swayed a bit but pushed away the hand one of the SS officers extended. Dornberger’s angry glare switched to Himmler.

‘Herr Reichsführer, I demand an explanation for this ... this ... outrage. It has taken four days to locate this man. Every effort made on his behalf has been frustrated by your ... your minions. Unless a satisfactory answer is forthcoming immediately, an apology made, and the guilty parties punished severely, I shall register charges against the SS with the OKW. The Army High Command, I can assure you, will be most concerned that such treatment has been accorded one of their employees.’

Himmler heard Dornberger out, nodding now and again as if in agreement. ‘Quite right,’ he murmured when Dornberger finished. ‘Quite right. In fact, I have already begun such an investigation.’

The two officers took Bethwig by the arms to help him from the cell. His legs were weak and threatening to give way, but he shook them off and forced himself to walk down the corridor. Waiting at the end was the hauptschauführer who had arrested him the night of the bombing and gleefully joined in the first beating. Without a change of expression, the man jumped to attention as the officers approached, then reached over and threw open the door. The daylight made Bethwig blink as he turned to the sergeant who stared past his shoulder as if he did not exist. The light brought tears to his eyes, and he saw the sergeant’s lip curled in contempt. It was all Bethwig could do to keep from ramming a fist into the man’s stomach, but he controlled himself, knowing that he was too weak to make much of an impression.

‘You and I have something to settle, don’t we?’

The sergeant continued to stare past him, pretending not to have heard. Bethwig lowered his voice and leaned closer:

‘Watch out for dark nights and make damned certain I never find you alone, you swine.’ Bethwig straightened and, as the sergeant’s eyes moved in his direction, said, ‘And that, Hauptschauführer Gassner, is a promise.’

Outside, Himmler’s limousine waited, but Bethwig passed it by and headed for the tram stop. An officer ran after him, but Bethwig swung around, fists clenched.

‘Touch me, you filthy SS swine, and I’ll break your back.’

The SS officer stopped abruptly, his astonishment plain, and Bethwig limped to the tram stop and sank down on the bench, refusing to look in the direction of the men clustered around the automobile. After a moment Dornberger detached himself and came over to the bench.

He lit a cigarette and offered it to Franz. ‘You know you are only making things worse,’ he said as he lit another.

Bethwig inhaled deeply, silently cursing his shaking hands. ‘I don’t give a damn. Just keep that filthy bastard and his bullies away from me.’

Behind them, the village lay in ruins. The English bombers had done a thorough job. Even in the prison it was possible to find out what had happened by listening to the guards. He knew that his old friend, Walter Thiel, was dead, killed because he had not the heart to continue working under SS pressure any longer. The old man had been too dispirited to attend the dinner for Hanna and so had died in his house with his family. His own test facilities had escaped with no damage at all, and the major test stands along the north coast had been only slightly damaged. The worst disaster had been visited on the Russian POW camp nearby. Eight hundred prisoners had been killed, and Bethwig wondered just how hard the men who saved the Chemistry Building would have worked if they had known that their reward was to be a beating at the hands of the SS or that eight hundred of their number were being killed by their own allies.

‘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.’