A thousand suns

The project had started only six months ago. Hauser had managed to pass on his discovery of the Jewish mathematician’s work to the Armaments Minister, Albert Speer, and amazingly, with a little investigation, the Jew had been tracked down to one of the munitions factories along the Rhine, where he had been working for the last two years. In a matter of only a few days, Hauser swiftly found himself placed in charge of a fast-track project to produce the world’s first atom bomb, while, to his immense satisfaction, Heisenberg’s fruitless and expensive programme was immediately mothballed. Speer had visited Hauser’s modest lab on a number of occasions to receive updates from him on the weapon’s progress during this period of time, but with the construction of the bomb nearing completion, Albert Speer had asked to review the design papers once more.

Hauser had done his best to expunge from the documentation the Jew’s frequent references to the risk of a runaway chain. But he suspected Speer must have found something in there somewhere. The Armaments Minister had attempted to raise the subject with Hauser; there had been a meeting arranged between them today to discuss his ‘concerns’. But then, at the last moment, Hauser had been informed that the plans had been changed, and that the meeting was to be with Hitler himself. Speer was no longer to be a part of the project.

Hauser had both sighed with relief that Speer was gone and shuddered with elation at the thought of meeting the man.

The door handle rattled as someone outside took hold of it and began to turn it. He heard a muffled voice — two, a man’s and a woman’s. Hauser shuddered anxiously as he recognised the man’s voice as unmistakably Hitler’s. He heard both voices talking in lowered, soft tones, an exchange of pleasantries between two people, intimate. The muffled exchange ended and the door to the study opened.

Hauser immediately stood to attention, heart pounding like a piston engine in his chest. He brought his heels together in his best rendition of the formal military greeting. ‘H-Heil Hitler.’

Hitler held his palm out beside his head, returning the salute tiredly. ‘Yes… yes. Please sit down.’

Hauser did as the Fuhrer asked. He sat down promptly while carefully studying Hitler as he settled himself in the leather chair behind his desk. He was wearing a white shirt and a black tie with his initials in gold discreetly stitched onto the tongue. His top button was undone and the tie had been loosened a little. Over the shirt he wore a beige, woollen cardigan with leather patches on its elbows. Hitler poured himself a glass of water from a decanter on the desk, his left hand trembling enough that a few spots of water splashed onto the desk.

Hauser was disturbed to see how tired and beaten he looked. The Fuhrer looked nothing like the proud figure standing tall in the news pictures; it was a feeble old man that sat before him.

‘Dr Karl Hauser, Albert Speer has been briefing me on your work. I have been following your progress.’ He leaned forward, his hands gathered together under his chin. ‘You must understand, time is the most important thing for us now. The Russians are very close and our men have orders to hold out till the last. This buys us a little respite, perhaps we have only two or three weeks before they reach the centre of Berlin.’

Hitler closed his eyes and his lips seemed to tremble ever so slightly as he prepared himself to ask the next question. ‘Is the project on schedule?’

Hauser could see the anxiety in the Fuhrer’s face. Time, of course, was everything now, the only currency worth anything. ‘The raw materials we needed have been produced, and the bomb is being assembled now. Nine, perhaps ten, more days, my Fuhrer. It is exactly on schedule.’

The transformation was almost instantaneous. Hauser watched as Hitler suddenly beamed with joy and slapped his thigh merrily. ‘Wonderful! Marvellous!’ Hitler sat back in his chair, exhaling with obvious relief. ‘Good… good. I knew that God would grant us time to salvage this war.’ Hitler paused, reflecting for a moment. ‘It saddens me that Speer has deserted us, now that victory is so close at hand.’

Hauser shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. No mention of Speer’s concerns about the design of the weapon. Thank God.

Hauser had wondered whether, if the issue were raised, he should lie to Hitler or be truthful. After all, it was only a calculated risk, and not a certainty.

Hitler took a sip of his water and studied Hauser with small eyes that glistened with moisture. ‘So tell me all about this weapon you have nearly finished building. Tell me first… how much destruction can we expect from it?’

Hauser smiled. He will be pleased with this.

‘It is a small bomb, the size of only a ten-gallon petrol drum, but with it we can destroy an entire city, certainly dozens of square miles of complete annihilation.’