Vengeance 10

In late April Heydrich arrived by steamer and was met at the wharf by a band and high-ranking officers of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe staffs who watched stiffly as the great man and his entourage strode down the gangway. Bethwig did not attend the ceremony. He was too busy in the wind-tunnel lab arguing with Dr Rudolph Hermann, the director, over the meaning of new supersonic test results. Their discussion was interrupted by a messenger with peremptory instructions for him to present himself immediately.

Bethwig did not bother to change from laboratory dungarees but crossed the road to the administrative building white-faced with anger. Heydrich had commandeered the canteen, closing it to the staff, and was holding court.

In the two months that had elapsed since his visit to Prague, Bethwig was shocked at the way the man had aged — dissipated is perhaps a better word, he thought. The head of the SD and the chosen successor to Hitler stopped speaking and glared as he entered. An aide jumped forward, frowning at the interruption, and motioned brusquely to a chair near the front of the semi-circle of attentive listeners. Bethwig ignored him, dragged a chair from the wall, reversed it, and sank down, resting his chin on crossed arms. The aide started towards him, but Bethwig waved him away in exasperation. Heydrich resumed his monologue. Bethwig barely concealed a yawn. He had no idea why he was going out of his way to antagonise the man. Idly he supposed it had to do with his father’s opinion that Heydrich represented the almost criminal element that seemed to have captured the party since the war began.

‘These people have little concept of the fight the Führer is waging for Germany’s chance to resume her rightful place among the world’s nations,’ the old man thundered at the least provocation, instead, they think only of personal empires, of thrusting as much money and power into their bottomless pockets as possible.’

Bethwig knew his father was correct, and the thought that both he and Wernher could become like them was disturbing. It was a few minutes before Heydrich’s voice penetrated the haze of weariness and indifference that had overcome him. When it did, he sat up with a jerk and noticed that von Braun was giving him worried glances.

‘…. and now that the liquid-oxygen problem has been solved, the A-Four is expected to be operational by mid-1943 and the A-Ten in December of the following year.’ Heydrich beamed around at the assembled scientists. One or two here and there nodded and smiled, but the majority exchanged worried looks. Von Braun’s fingers tapped nervously on the table for a moment.

‘Herr Heydrich,’ he said into the silence, ‘I am afraid your timetable is off. The A-Four has yet to fly, and the A-Ten engines have yet to be tested. We do not know what problems we may encounter. I have just spent the morning discussing the effects of aerodynamic drag on the rocket’s structure as it re-enters the atmosphere. Several new facts have come to light that may — ‘

Heydrich laughed and held up a hand. ‘Please, Herr Doktor von Braun, I certainly do not presume to tell experts how their work should be done.’ He chuckled in depreciation of his own abilities. ‘But I have observed that the successful scientist never knows when to turn his energies to new tasks.’ He beamed at them all like a kindly uncle. ‘Once you have fired the first one or two A- Four rockets, you simply must turn the project over to others and devote your attention strictly to the A-Ten.’ Heydrich stood abruptly. ‘But now we must discuss another subject, gentlemen — the use of slave labour to supplement the work force already at Peenemunde.’ Heydrich frowned at the murmur of protest and waved a hand at an SS major standing behind him.

The sturmbannführer stepped around the table, glaring at the assembled scientists. He was tall and thin and wore steel-rimmed spectacles. Points of light glinted on his silver braid and on the death’s-head insignia decorating his collar. His very presence was intimidating, and the officer played it like a well-practised musical instrument.

‘The Reich can no longer continue to supply the reserves of manpower you demand. They are needed for front-line duty with our fighting forces. In fact, it may soon be necessary to call up some of your technical staff.’

The silence that greeted this last pronouncement was strained, but no one dared protest.

‘We are aware that you need manpower, and we will make available to you within the next few months ample supplies from our prisoner-of-war camps. The Reich will no longer feed, clothe, and house these parasites without compensation. As good German citizens, you will be expected to set satisfactory production norms and see they are properly met. Labour will come to you in two categories: those with technical skills and those without. The latter may be used as you see fit, in non-skilled positions.’