A thousand suns

‘Do you think we’re going to do it, Max?’

‘What?’

‘Do you think we’ll make it across to America?’

The troubling doubts instantly vanished to the darkest corners of his mind as he considered the audacious, ambitious challenge Rall had presented to him. It could most certainly be done.

‘The Major’s put together a clever plan, Stefan… of course we will.’

That seemed to satisfy the lad for a few moments, before he looked up once more from the heater and stared at Max. ‘Why did you decide to do this mission? I know why the others did. Pieter I think because he believes in this country, Hans because he just wants some revenge, and me, I voted yes because of my family, my mother, my sisters… but you?’

So much like Lucian, always asking bloody questions.

Max suspected Pieter had volunteered because deep down he’d never stopped believing in his beloved Fuhrer, something he would never admit to in public now. There was a lot that he didn’t have in common with Pieter, their politics, their background, their basic view on life differed, and yet it was the shared experiences of the last three years that had forged a rock-steady partnership between them. They had seen three navigators and two gunners come and go, and most of the other original personnel of KG-301 had died, been wounded or transferred to other undermanned squadrons. He wondered, if both of them survived the war, whether they would stay in touch with each other.

Probably not.

They would have nothing in common to talk about other than their wartime experiences. Pieter’s world was factory floors, beer cellars and women. Max’s world had once been teaching, a long, long time ago in his pre-war life.

‘I suppose I want my life back, Stef. I want to grow old in a quiet country village where I know everyone’s face, and the most terrifying thing that happens to me every day is crossing the road.’

He turned to the young man. ‘If the Russians take Germany, we can’t expect an ounce of mercy, and I don’t expect they’ll show us any. If they take Germany, Stef, we’re all as good as dead.’

‘We have to succeed then, don’t we, sir?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes, we do, lad.’

Chapter 25

Schenkelmann

27 April 1945, a southern suburb of Stuttgart

Dr Hauser stood in the middle of the lab and stared at the device. It looked like a small beer keg surrounded by a frame of scaffolding.

This is my creation, MY creation.

Hauser felt the need to remind himself regularly that this thing was his work. Of course, the Jew had made a contribution, but in the end it was just a different way of calculating the same process, and it was obvious now, looking back. Hauser knew he’d have figured it out for himself sooner or later.

This was the fruit of all his hard work; the Jew had merely helped.

Without him the project would never have been put before Albert Speer and consequently would not have received the go ahead.

To be fair, the Jew, Schenkelmann, and his two assistants had done a good job assembling the device, but Hauser had designed the mechanics of the bomb and had drawn out the schematic; after all, he’d spent enough time poring over Heisenberg’s bomb designs to know what the best configuration would be.

If he was going to be totally honest about the distribution of credit, the Jew deserved something for his calculations on accelerating the critical mass, but it was he, Dr Karl Hauser, who had really made this project happen.

Hauser admired the compact device, taking pride in the efficiency of the design.

Such a small, beautiful thing to cause so much destruction.

He approached his bomb and tenderly ran his hand along the metal casing, sensing the kinetic energy inside, the explosive monster lying inert, asleep, waiting.

‘Dr Hauser?’

Hauser felt his skin crawl at the sound of the little Jew’s voice. He turned round to face Joseph Schenkelmann. He was a short, slight man in his late forties, thick dark hair, greying at the temples.

‘What is it, Joseph?’

‘Sir, d-did you speak with the Fuhrer?’ the small man stuttered nervously.

‘Of course I did.’

‘And you explained the… the p-problem to him?’

Hauser found his temper quickly fraying at the mention of the ‘old issue’. He forced a smile at Schenkelmann and consoled himself with a little truth.

I won’t have to put up with him for much longer.

‘He is aware of the risk, but is still keen to have the bomb readied for removal tomorrow, Joseph.’

Schenkelmann looked incredulous. ‘He knows?… and still he wants to p-proceed?’

‘Yes, I explained the risk, and he and I agree it is marginal. Now if you don’t mind — ’

Schenkelmann seemed to turn a shade paler than his usual complexion. ‘M-marginal? Please… Dr Hauser, you’ve seen the c-calculations for yourself… you’ve seen it. The danger of an infinite reaction is — ’

‘- is acceptable given the current situation. Now, we have discussed this I don’t know how many times and I am growing tired of hearing — ’

‘The danger of the infinite reaction is f-fifty per cent. Dr Hauser, sir… we are gambling the world on a one in two chance!’