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.’
Bethwig thought about that a moment. ‘But Kammler was supposed to arrive this afternoon and did not. How much importance can…?’
Prager dismissed the objection with an abrupt gesture. ‘Tempelhof was badly bombed. The runways are not usable at the moment, so Kammler is driving to Peenemunde. Walsch found out and alerted friends at Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. Roadblocks have been established to delay him. Again, all this is without Himmler’s knowledge; but then, it makes no difference in any case. Walsch is determined that von Braun and you be arrested before the rocket can be launched. Having failed yet again, you will both be discredited and no one will raise a voice in your defence. And do not forget that Walsch also has a hole card – the old charges of diverting war materials to personal ends are still pending against your friend. As soon as the arrests are made, the same charges will be made against you, using the V-Ten as evidence. An SS tribunal will find you guilty, and the sentence will be carried out. Kammler will have no choice but to agree or be charged as an accessory.’
‘What about the SS commander here? You said he might be persuaded to intervene?’
Prager shrugged. ‘He refused. He won’t help Walsch, but he won’t hinder him either. Hauptsturmführer Schulz knows that Kammler may be for the high jump, and wants to make certain he doesn’t go with him.’
There was no reason, Bethwig knew, to doubt Prager’s analysis. It made sense according to the Byzantine style of thinking that characterised the upper echelons of the SS.
His mind was working now at a feverish pace. There were two alternatives remaining. He could press ahead with the launch in the hope that it could be completed before Walsch received the warrants, but as soon as the thought was formulated, he saw its hopelessness. If, as Prager said, Walsch was that determined to stop them, he would merely have them arrested and held until the confession and the warrants were forthcoming. The man was a fanatic; he had known that since their first meeting in 1938. Logic did not affect his thinking. Walsch was determined to destroy them, to demonstrate his own power in return for the slights he had suffered, or supposed he had suffered, all these years.
That left the second alternative. Walsch had to be destroyed. They might then survive long enough at least to complete the launching. After that, nothing else mattered.
All these years he had built weapons of mass destruction, had worked willingly, joyfully and skilfully to do so, while enjoying the camaraderie that such difficult and complex tasks engendered among teams of specialists. He had seen such weapons move from his imagination to drawing board to test stand. He had participated in and directed operational launchings of the V-2 on London and Antwerp and Brussels with hardly a thought for the thousands of civilians he was killing by remote control. But now the moment had come when he must kill with his own hands, at close range, close enough to see into the eyes of the man he was murdering. The thought was sickening, and Bethwig experienced a rare sensation of futility and indecision.
Surprisingly enough, Prager did not protest the conclusion. ‘How would you go about it?’ he asked. ‘You couldn’t get near enough to Walsch now, nor could I.’
A scheme was already forming in Bethwig’s mind. ‘How many SS troops are left on Peenemunde?’ he demanded.
Prager glanced at him, then shook his head. ‘I’m not certain. Perhaps a hundred. Certainly not more.’
‘Would they obey orders given by Walsch?’
‘No!’ Prager’s answer was emphatic. ‘Not even if the Russians were crossing the River Peene.’