Vengeance 10

So far, Prager had reported nothing of serious consequence from Gestapo headquarters in Trassenheide, and Bethwig was beginning to think they would beat Walsch in spite of the odds. He was puzzled then as to the origin of the depression engulfing him. He was about to realise the dream of a lifetime, despite insurmountable difficulties. The countdown had proceeded so smoothly they were ahead of schedule by some fifty-four seconds. For a moment he smiled to himself in the darkness, remembering the early days at Kummersdorf and Greifswalder Oie where they had struggled not only to launch rockets but to develop orderly methods for doing so.

And what would happen to their carefully constructed countdown procedures, to the painfully learned concept of built-in holds, included as much to allow everyone to catch their breath as to cope with unforeseen emergencies. An entire vocabulary had been evolved and would be lost after tonight. The Peenemunde crew would never launch another rocket. The Russians would overrun the area before his next V-10 could be readied. But that had not affected his decision in the slightest. The war would soon be over and with it experimentation with rockets. If the crew has learned one thing, he thought, it is that rocket research is so expensive only a government can afford it. And they would do so grudgingly, even under the exigencies of war.

The fact that the Allies might have sent an agent to make contact with von Braun suggested their interest. But Bethwig also suspected that interest would be short-lived; as soon as the war was ended, the various democracies would revert to peacetime pursuits, and economic depression would follow, as always happened after a major war, and the cycle would repeat itself as endlessly as in the past.

Bethwig threw his cigarette away and walked out to the service road. Hands in pockets, he stood with his back to the wind looking down the paved surface to the floodlit gantries surrounding the cone-shaped tower that was his V-10. He could see its entire length, including the two sharply raked wings on the third stage. He stood there for a while, feeling no urgency to return; the launch team was thoroughly drilled. He was like a ship’s captain, needed only for emergency decisions. Unless something completely untoward happened, six more hours would see it finished. For a moment he was close to praying.

Prager was waiting for him in the blockhouse. The Gestapo agent nodded, and a few minutes later Bethwig crossed the room to the lavatory. Prager followed him in and locked the door.

‘Walsch has finished with the three traitors. All confessed and have been executed. He will start on the Englishman soon. I won’t go into details, but if he resists for even one hour, then he is made of iron.’

Bethwig fought down the urge to scream, to swear, to smash his fist against the wall. They were so close, so damned close. Instead, he held himself rigid, under iron control, until he could think coherently once more.

‘How long?’

Prager shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Walsch has nearly exhausted himself. The man is sick and may decide to rest a while.’ Prager shrugged. ‘Every minute he delays makes it that much easier to break the Englishman.’

‘But didn’t you tell me that it would still take time to get arrest warrants from Berlin?’

Prager nodded, his defeat evident now. ‘So I thought. But as soon as he had the first confession, Walsch persuaded Himmler’s office to issue a conditional warrant. Now he only needs the Englishman’s. He would prefer to do it legally.’ Prager shrugged. ‘But believe me, if for some reason Walsch fails to break the Englishman, he will falsify the confession and kill him.’

Bethwig stooped over a sink and drenched his face with cold water. ‘I just cannot believe that Himmler would allow us to be arrested, at least before the V-Ten is launched. There is too much…’

Prager pushed himself away from the wall. ‘Stop thinking like that. Logic has no bearing on the matter. Himmler realises that neither the V-Two nor the V-Ten can affect the war any longer; in fact, I doubt he is even aware you are attempting the V-Ten launching.’ When Bethwig stared at him in astonishment, Prager nodded.

‘He is much too busy gathering together the final reins of power. As commander in chief of the Replacement Army, as well as Reichsführer and head of the SS, he virtually controls Germany. Why should he spend time worrying about another secret weapon when the previous ones have failed to live up to expectations?’

‘But who…?’

‘Kammler.’ Prager answered his unfinished question. ‘General Kammler chose incorrectly when offered a choice between command of the Vengeance weapon battalions and a division on the eastern front last year. It is said that even Himmler’s staff members no longer accept his telephone calls. Kammler is desperate to regain favour before Himmler remembers to hang him from a meat hook for sabotaging the war effort. He believes the V-Ten will save him.’