Vengeance 10

At the end of March von Braun flew from the Luftwaffe airfield on Peenemunde to report to Heydrich in Prague. Bethwig watched the little blue Bf.108 disappear into the low cloud, then drove back to his office, conscious that his initial excitement was dissipating the more he delved into the numerous problems surrounding the new project. But then, it was always like this: intense excitement giving way to the hard work and sheer hell of wrestling with recalcitrant technical problems. He was also worried about von Braun. Bethwig had to admit that for a young man to become the director of a major military project was a heady experience, but more and more the man was acting like a child with a new toy. Particularly when it came to the Messerschmitt aircraft that Heydrich had put at his disposal. Von Braun was an enthusiastic pilot and a good one, but his first itinerary was definitely too ambitious. He would be gone at least two weeks. Following the Prague meeting he would visit contractors’ plants from Munich to Stuttgart before returning to Peenemunde. Then there was the side trip to Liege to check on the injector systems being built at the Manufacture d’Armes. As no one high in management had visited the factory since the contract had been established eighteen months before, it was time someone did so, Wernher had told him. Showing the flag, he had called it.

Privately Bethwig felt it all had gone to von Braun’s head; yet at the same time he did not feel as if he could begrudge him his fun. Certainly he had an outsized ego. All good scientists did; it was a prerequisite for anyone who wished to accomplish grand schemes. But in the meantime here at home where the work was done, he had several knotty problems to contend with. And now Heydrich was pressuring them to move the project schedule up unrealistically for political reasons. So far, von Braun had resisted his blandishments; nevertheless, the reichsprotektor was pushing them to reconsider. His last cable had been tantamount to an order and was at least part of the reason von Braun had rushed off to Prague.

They were, he thought, beginning to discover that Dornberger might well have been correct in his assessment of Heydrich’s support; the priority assigned the A-10 project was more illusion than substance. Dornberger had pointed out to them just the evening before that even in Germany the anomaly of a political policeman conducting his own military weapons project at a research station owned and funded by the army would hardly pass unremarked.

‘The political situation is becoming murkier all the time, damn it,’ Dornberger had snapped. ‘There is no telling which way the winds will shift next. After the army’s failure to take Moscow last year, we are all on probation. Another failure, and heads will roll. And I mean that literally. You two are employees of the army — civilians yes, but still employees. So don’t think you would be spared if someone took it into his head that we are wasting time, money, and vital resources up here.’

* * *

As the spring wore on, von Braun made several flights to Prague and to various contractors in occupied Europe, while Bethwig had managed only three short visits to Hradcany Castle himself. He was left more and more with the day-to-day operations of both the A-10 and A-4 series — the latter now approached flight-test status — and spent long hours in the construction sheds watching the assembly workers closely as the parts were slowly integrated and the first three rockets began to take shape. In the evenings he wrote reports to Heydrich’s staff and fended off their demands for faster progress. Dornberger lent a hand whenever possible; but as the test centre had grown, he had moved into the administrative end and was more often than not in Berlin.

In the nights, between his infrequent visits to Prague, Bethwig was tortured by images of Inge. At first he was inclined to dismiss his reaction as simple sexual desire. But then he became convinced, or convinced himself — he was never certain which — that there was more to his feeling for Inge than mere lust. Uppermost in his mind was the intense desire to protect her from — and here Bethwig faltered, embarrassed — the clutches of the SS. It began to sound to him like one of those stage melodramas in which the hero rushes in at the last moment to save the beautiful heroine from a lifetime of degradation.

He could not even bring himself to talk to von Braun about her. Somehow the thought of having his best friend know about the girl was too much for him. How do you explain your infatuation with a retarded prostitute? he wondered. Consequently, the more he thought about her, the more confused he became. And night after night he lay awake trying to understand his feelings for her.

* * *