Swan continued, explaining that the V-2 had begun its descent, dropping towards South London, where a number 89 bus had been half way into its journey, from Blackheath Standard, to Welling Railway Station. It had contained passengers on their way back from work to spend the evening with their families, and carried passengers on their way to work. ‘At 18:38, the missile struck an area, between The Brook Hotel and Shooter’s Hill Road, in South East London, unfortunately at the same time, as this bus happened to be passing. Twenty-nine people were killed by this particular missile.’
The Chief Engineer cut in. ‘It was war, Mr Swan. The Third Reich’s last attempt to show their power. People died, many thousands of civilians on both sides, as you well know. Just look at what happened to the beautiful city of Dresden, for instance.’
Swan took a few deep breaths, noticing Von Braun’s embarrassing smile, it was as if a fresh log had suddenly been added to an already raging fire within him. He shook his head, walked over to stand only inches away from the man in front of him. ‘That is true, Mr Von Braun, and you are quite right in what you say. But, one of the passengers on the bus, happened to be a nurse in the Women’s Royal Nursing Service, and just like any other night, she was on her way to her duties at the nearby Royal Herbert Military Hospital. You see, she was quite popular with the patients there. In fact, as that building was close by, the impact of the missile, was heard at the hospital. This woman was married, and sadly, had lost her husband in a bombing raid in Malta, in 1942. However, she did leave behind a twenty-five-year-old son. Fortunately, he was based in England, in the Royal Corps of Signals, and had an opportunity to spend many weekends with his mother, at their family home, overlooking Blackheath. That evening, while on duty at a Y station listening post, in Kent, codenamed ‘Bill One,’ that young man answered the green telephone, in the row of three in the office, to be informed, his mother had been killed in a V-2 attack.’
Swan stared, as the change of expression on the German’s face, indicated his realisation as to where this was now leading. The length of detail, this Englishman had gone to explain this story, could only lead to one conclusion. ‘Yes, Mr Von Braun, she was my mother. So please excuse me, if I do not share your sentiments, for your great invention.’
The German’s eyes bulged, and, as if to display some shame for his part, in what he had just been told, bowed his head.
Swan stared at him for a few seconds, and without saying another word, walk slowly out of the office, leaving Von Braun with his prickly thoughts.
Just over two hours later, at T- Minus thirty seconds to launch, everything at the Kennedy Control Centre was ready, as Mission Control at Houston, had begun with the final countdown. Out at the launch pad, plumes of smoke started to appear at the base of the Saturn V, Then, a combination of immense vibration and a blanket of fire engulfed the tall, white space vehicle. The gantry release arm swung away, allowing the rocket to rise up alongside the structure, and head towards the sky.
Out on the causeway road, five miles from Orlando, Swan sat in the passenger seat of his transport to Miami airport. The sergeant looked at his watch, while listening to the broadcast coming live from Space View Park. He stopped the car, got out and leant on the roof of the police vehicle. Listening to the radio commentary, he followed the countdown. Then, he heard the familiar sound of the engines vibrating across the bay, followed a few moments later, by the awesome sight of Apollo 11 soaring into the clear blue sky; the noise from the engines, now at an almost deafening level, vibrating like an earthquake, beneath his feet.
Swan sat looking at his flight ticket, as the noise bounced off the sides of the car. As he listened to the commentary, he thought about his recurring dream again. Minutes later, the big rocket had reached a high altitude, and in the haze of the upper atmosphere, the first booster separation, could just be seen by the naked eye. Now nothing, but a small white speck on top of a path of cotton wool, leading all the way back down to Pad 39A, the Saturn V shrank from the view of the policeman, as it pierced through the blue, into the black shroud of space.
A few more minutes, and the second separation would be executed, followed shortly by the third; The combination of the command vehicle Columbia and lunar module Eagle, were on their way, to the Moon. In the sky the path of cotton wool was beginning to break up and the reverberations felt minutes before, were now slowly shrinking, becoming just part of the cool breeze, brushing in across the launch area from the ocean.
The policeman got back into the car and smiled at his passenger. ‘Man, did you see that?’
The Englishman said nothing. He looked at his watch, giving the policeman that ‘I think we better move on’, look. The sergeant shrugged, then re-started the car, to continue on with the journey to the airport.
At the same time in the Brigand Club, in London, Arthur Gable sat with a recovering Air Commodore Sir Alistair Higgins, and other men watching the launch on television. ‘Bloody marvellous,’ shouted Higgins, raising his whisky glass. There was a round of applause, as the camera followed the rocket’s progress with the elation of the commentator almost shouting in elated emotion.
Gable also raised his glass. ‘Here’s to man’s next great achievement.’ The two men clinked their tumblers together.’
Higgins baulked. ‘I say! Alex is missing all this. Where the devil is he, Arthur?’ Gable laughed out loud.
Higgins looked puzzlingly at him. ‘What’s so funny, old boy?’
‘Right now, Sir Alistair, Alex is, believe it or not, Alex is somewhere near the end of that rocket plume. He’s at Cape Canaveral.’
Higgins coughed a gas of scotch from the side of his glass. Gable laughed again, and all the other men around them joined in.
The hilarity ceased. Higgins now took on a more serious expression ‘How on Earth, has he managed that, Arthur?’
Gable put his glass down on the table and sat himself down in the armchair. ‘He discovered what the late German engineer Karl Ruger, had meant by his last words to Stevenson, on the riverbank. He said to him, ‘The Eagle will fall’. The Eagle as we now know, is the name given to the lunar lander of Apollo 11. The Onyx Cross had planned to sabotage the mission. Gable explained the events after the St Pancras incident, including what happened with Baumann, Swan’s time in Hamburg, and the supersonic ride in an F-111, to Florida.
‘The leader of the Onyx Cross was killed in road accident. The last thing I knew was he was racing to the Kennedy Space Centre.
‘I see,’ said Higgins, his eyes on a re-run of the launch. ‘So, it looks like Alex, has saved the day?’ he concluded.
‘Let’s bloody well hope so,’ Gable replied.
Higgins raised his glass again. ‘Well done, Alex, my boy,’ he cheered.
At Miami International Airport, a transformed Katrina Holz glanced at her flight ticket, checked the flight number, then walked over to the check-in desk, handing over her ticket to the female attendant.
The attendant took the ticket and asked Holz for her passport. She gave it to her, watching the attendant carefully as she scrutinised it, then returned it to her. ‘Enjoy your flight, Miss Kramer.’ The German woman smiled at her, picked up her bag, and walked away from the desk.