Vengeance 10

Bethwig shook his head. ‘I am a civilian, an army employee. And you have no jurisdiction.’

‘Is that so.’

Bethwig could identify the rank now; the tall one was a sturmmann and the other an SS-mann, equivalent to lance corporal and private, respectively, in the army.

The sturmmann reached forward to rub the material of Bethwig’s torn greatcoat between his fingers. ‘This looks like an army issue to me.’

Bethwig knocked his hand away. ‘It is, you idiot.’ He unbuttoned the coat and flung it open. ‘But no uniform underneath.’

‘Not so unusual. Most deserters get rid of their uniforms as quickly as possible. They think to fool us that way.’

Bethwig shook his head in disgust. They were one of the SS patrols detailed to search behind the front lines for deserters. Soldiers caught away from their units without proper authorisation were summarily executed by men like these.

‘We are at least twenty kilometres from the front lines. Are you two skulking back here because there is no one to shoot at you?’ The private chuckled. ‘For someone about to be shot, your mouth certainly flaps a lot.’

Bethwig snorted. ‘I am an engineer assigned to a V-Two launch team, B company. Four hundred eighty-fifth Battalion, about a kilometre from here. It was shot up twenty minutes ago by an Allied aircraft.’

‘And so you ran away?’ the other sneered.

‘Of course, you fool. Those are standing orders, written by SS General Kammler himself. The Allied aircraft always try to kill as many of the launch crew as possible. The general’s orders are to scatter and return to a specified assembly point within sixty minutes. We have few enough trained technicians as it is.’

The sturmmann laughed. ‘Well, if that is the case, the Four hundred eighty-fifth is about to be one fewer.’ He looked around the clearing. ‘This spot is as good as any, I suppose.’

He undid the holster flap and drew his Walther pistol. Bethwig was so cold and exhausted that for a moment his actions did not register. To be shot almost seemed a welcome idea, but he forced himself to make the effort.

‘You damned fool. How do you think you will explain my execution to your superiors?’

‘Quite simply. We complete the report forms when we return to our unit. Whatever we say is accepted. Right, Clement?’ The SS-mann nodded in solemn agreement.

Oddly enough, Bethwig felt absolutely no fear, only curiosity as to the outcome, and he could not decide if this was a result of exhaustion or self-confidence. ‘You do have to submit the executed prisoner’s identification tags and paybook, do you not?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then before you shoot, you had better search me. You aren’t going to find either.’

The sturmmann shrugged, it is not unusual.’

‘What you will find are my identification papers that show clearly I am an employee of the Army Weapons Research Centre, now under the direction of the SS. I report directly to General Kammler and through him to Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler.’ He tilted his head to one side as the man released the safety.

‘You really should check, you know. If I am killed you and your friend are liable to hang — from a meat hook. Himmler prefers that method of execution, I am told.’

The other SS trooper, Clement, put a hand on his companion’s arm. ‘Wait. I think we had better check, just to make certain. What if he isn’t lying?’

He pushed Bethwig’s arms up, yanked open his coat, and searched until he found the wallet and dragged it out. Using his electric torch, he examined Bethwig’s papers.

‘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.