Vengeance 10

The half-minute dragged; tension mounted in the bunker until Bethwig thought he must scream to release it. On the launch table the vapour suddenly became a steady mist; cables fell away and gantries swung back, leaving the rocket standing clear against the floodlights. The mist became a hissing pillar of flame shot through with reddish shades at the moment the FCO announced actual ignition. The cloud of burned gases swirled outwards, roiling with streaks of flame and debris. The bunker began to vibrate to the low-frequency rumble of the twenty-one M103.5 rocket engines firing in unison. Even at a kilometre’s distance the rocket could be seen to shudder. The FCO’s voice reading various instrument results was lost in the painful crescendo of sound that struck and hammered at their ears through the metres-thick wall.

The rocket was rising now, lifting out of the inferno of flaming gas and steam. A shaft of flame erupted half a kilometre further on where the exhaust tunnel ended, and the sky caught fire. Bethwig realised he was holding his breath, then forgot as the ungainly rocket cleared the top of the gantries. It was rotating slightly now as the internal guidance system began to prepare for a thunderous flight towards the distant Atlantic. The rocket climbed steadily, passing two hundred metres, and Bethwig had to duck to see upwards through the slit window. The television monitors were useless once the rocket left the floodlit stage; they could show only an intense pinpoint of flame without reference. He became aware that he was gripping his clipboard so hard he had torn half the sheets. My God, he thought, it really is going to make it!

Cursing, he ducked out of the gallery and, defying all regulations, raced down the corridor, shoved the startled guard aside, and dived into the night. Above, the entire sky was lit as if by an artillery barrage. A slender pillar of flame was growing longer and wider as he watched. It moved with all the inexorability of a meteor in slow motion. The magnesium-bright exhaust was visible even through the light cloud that had filtered in from the direction of Rugen. Damn, he thought, it’s going to make it. It’s… The rocket blew up with a flare so brilliant that he was blinded. The sound bellowed about his ears, and he ducked towards the doorway, blinking and cursing the retinal after-image that obscured everything.

* * *

‘You have failed me. I do not like my subordinates to fail.’ Himmler’s voice was mild enough, but there was no doubting the threat behind his words. Bethwig, however, was not in the mood for the Reichsführer’s tantrums. It was nearly three in the morning, and they had just come from a post-mortem examination of telemetry data, dragged away at Himmler’s express command. Von Braun had been acting as Himmler’s escort since the launch and now lounged in a corner, smoking a cigarette. Several ranking engineers and department heads were watching the Reichsführer with apprehension. Bethwig turned furiously on Himmler, dashing his clipboard to the floor.

‘We have not failed you, Reichsführer,’ he roared in uncontrollable anger. ‘I expressly recall warning you that it would be a miracle if the rocket even raised off the stand. It did that and more. There are some four hundred thousand parts that must work correctly if the rocket is to complete its flight. Four hundred thousand,’ he repeated. ‘We are battering against the frontiers of science, Herr Reichsführer. Only three weeks ago we launched a rocket that was less than three per cent as powerful, a major accomplishment in itself. Now, we are taking what can only be described as a quantum jump in technology. When you accuse us of failure, Herr Reichsführer, you let us down!’

He distinctly heard several gasps, and Himmler flinched as if he had been struck. In an instant Bethwig realised he had made a mortal enemy but was too tired to care. Himmler signalled his aide and swept out of the lounge. Dornberger hustled the rest of the staff out, and von Braun closed the door and leaned against it.

‘Not wise, Franz. Not wise at all,’ he admonished in a weak voice.

Bethwig shrugged and threw himself on to the sofa. ‘I really don’t give a damn any longer.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the light and the world.

Von Braun took a cigarette from his gold case and offered one to Franz, only to discover that he had fallen asleep. He finished the cigarette in silence, then, with a glance at his sleeping friend, closed the door carefully behind him.

* * *